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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Prayers from the Poets. 



COMPILED BY 



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More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. 

—TENNYSON. 



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JAN V3 1399 )/ 
Fleming H. Revell Company, 

NEW YORK: i CHICAGO: 

30 Union Square: East. 148 and 150 Madison Street. 

Publishers of Evangelical Literature, 



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The compiler wishes to acknowledge the courtesy shown 
by publishers in giving permission to use selections from their 
publications. Among those to whom she feels especially grate- 
ful are D. Appleton & Co., N. Y., for selections from W. C. 
Bryant's works; James Nisbet & Co., London, for selections 
from the works of F. R. Havergal; Kegan Paul, Trench, Trub- 
ner & Co., London, for selections from the poems of Gerald 
Massey; Roberts Bros., Boston, for poems by Susan Coolidge; 
Charles Scribner's Sons, N. Y., for selections from Sidney La- 
nier and J. G. Holland, and Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, 
for permission to use selections from the works of H. W. Long- 
fellow, J. G. Whittier. Dr. Holmes, J. R. Lowell, Alice Cary, 
Phebe Cary, Lucy Larcom and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 



f *) 3 



Wl,. 



Copyright, iSqi, by Martha Harger. 



I N D K. X. 



Andrew Rykman's Prayer J. G. Whittier. 

Our Master J. G. Whittier. 

Prayer from "Isobel's Child". . ..Mrs. E. B. Browning. 

Prayer from "Rabbi Ben Ezra" Robert Browning. 

Evening Joseph Anstice. 

The Master's Touch Horatius Bonar. 

Lead Me. ...» Samuel D. Robbins. 

Prayer for Direction .John Stuart Blackie. 

Praver of Mildred from 

'Mistress of the Manse" J. G. Holland. 

Prayer of Paul in "Kathrina" J. G. Holland. 

Evening Prayer Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

Sonnet by Michael Angelo, 

Translated by Samuel Wordsworth. 

A Prayer Lord Ly tton. 

My Jesus, as Thou Wilt Benjamin Schmolke. 

Translated by Jane Borthwick. 

Praver from *'The Children of the 

Lord's Supper" H. W. Longfellow. 

A Worker's Prayer Frances Ridley Havergal. 

Sunday Evening Prayer. . . .Frances Ridley Havergal. 

i\dam's Evening Prayer John Milton. 

Adam's Morning Prayer John Milton. 

Milton's Prayer in Blindness E. L. Howell. 

Prayer for Truth William J. Linton. 

(3) 



3tra*r- 



Prayer ol'Mary Queen of Scots, 

Translated by James F. Clarke. 

A Prayer James Russell Lowell. 

On the Memory of Hood James Russell Lowell. 

A Parent's Prayer. Leonard Withington. 

Prayer from "April" Miss Mulock. 

The Boy King's Prayer Victor Hugo. 

Prayer imitated from the Persian Robert Southey. 

Thy Kingdom Come Jeremy Taylor. 

Mistakes S. M. Day. 

Prayer from "Ye did it not to Me" 

Prayer for Sunday Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

Prayer from "The Living 

Temple" Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

The Preparation of the Heart James Montgomery. 

The Universal Prayer , Alexander Pope. 

Prayer from "Sweet Death" Christine G. Rosetti. 

Prayer Dost Thou not Care Christine G. Rosetti. 

Divine and Human . . . Lucy Larcom. 

My Angel Dress Lucy Larcom. 

Thy Will be Done George P. Morris. 

The Smoke George MacDonald. 

Shadows George MacDonald. 

Lord, hear my Discontent George MacDonald. 

Hunger for Righteousness George MacDonald. 

Half- Sight George MacDonald. 

Prayer George MacDonald. 

Prayer from "The Seasons" James Thompson. 

My Times are in Thy Hand Anna L. Waring. 

Evening Prayer 

Prayer from "In Memoriam' Alfred Tennyson. 



3nbey. 



A Prayer Alice Cary. 

Supplication Alice Cary. 

Prayer in Extremity Phebe Cary. 

A Child's Prayer .Charles Dickens. 

Prayer of the Wiltshire Laborers. . . Charles Dickens. 

Unanswered Prayer Richard C. Trench. 

Prayer Richard C. Trench. 

He Remembereth. . . . ; Mrs. Helen F. Jackson. 

Lead, Kindly Light Cardinal Newman. 

Thou art the Life and Light Thomas Moore. 

O Thou who Dry'st the Mourner's. . . . 

Tear Thomas Moore. 

Labor and Prayer Arthur Hugh Clough. 

O Thou whose Image in the. . . 

Shrine Arthur Hugh Clough. 

The Eternity of God Frederick W. Faber. 

The God of my Childhood Frederick W. Faber. 

Prayer Frederick W. Faber, 

Prayer in Prospect of Death Robert Burns. 

Praj'er of Boatmen as they approach 

the Rapids , Wm. Wordsworth. 

Praj'er near a Spring Wm. Wordsworth. 

Father, take my Hand 

Prayer from "A Forest Hymn" W. C. Bryant. 

Prayer from "A Hymn of the City". . ..W. C. Bryant. 

Prayer of the Waldenses W. C. Bryant. 

Weariness - Mary K. Stone. 

Whatsoever Margaret J. Preston. 

The Prayer of Nature Lord Byron. 

Prayer from "The Adieu" Lord Byron. 

Second Sunday after Christmas John Keble. 



6 3n&*?- 

Fourth Sunday after Easter John Keble. 

A Poet's Prayer Ebenezer Elliott. 

Prayer from "A Florida Sunday'' Sidney Lanier. 

Prayer at a Wedding Sidney Lanier. 

The Higher Good Theodore Parker. 

Prayer of Thanksgiving Robert Herrick. 

Prayer to the Holy Spirit John Dryden. 

Per Pacem Ad Lucem Adelaide Procter. 

Prayer of Resignation Thomas Chatterton. 

At Kandersteg George Bancroft 

Communion Susan Coolidge. 

Laborare est Orare Susan Coolidge. 

Vesper Prayer Eliza Scudder. 

Sunday Edmund Spenser. 

A Prayer of Affection Mrs. Hemans. 

A Marriage Prayer Gerald Massey. 

Prayer from "A Poet's Love Letter". .Gerald Massey. 

The Divine Likeness Gerald Massey. 

At Eventide Gerald Massey. 

The Sacrifice of the Will 

Prayer Arthur C. Coxe. 

Martha Julia C. Dorr. 

A Last Prayer Helen Hunt Jackson. 



Unanswered vet ! the prayers your lips have pleaded 
In agony of heart — these many years ? 

Does faith begin to fail? Its hope departing? 

And think you all in vain, those falling tears? 

Say not, the Father hath not heard your prayer, 

You shall have your desire — sometime — somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ! though when you first presented 
This one petition at the Father's throne, 

It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, 
So urgent was your heart to make it known; 

Though years have passed since then — do not despair, 

The Lord will answer you — sometime — somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ! Nay, do not say ungranted — 
Perhaps your work is not yet wholly done. 

The work began when your first prayer was uttered, 
And God will finish what He has begun. 

If you will keep the incense burning there, 

His glory you shall see — sometime — somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ! Faith cannot be unanswered; 
Her feet are firmly planted on the rock; 

Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, 
Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. 

She knows Omnipotence has heard the prayer, 

And cries — "It shall be done" — sometime — some- 
where. 

— Robert Browning. 



PRAYERS FROM THE POETS. 

r* r* ** r* 

Andrew Rykman's Prayer. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare 
Shape in words a mortal's prayer ! 
Prayer, that, when my day is done, 
And I see its setting sun, 
Shorn and beamless, cold and dim, 
Sink beneath the horizon's rim, — 
When this ball of rock and clay 
Crumbles from my feet away, 
And the solid shores of sense 
Melt into the vague immense, 
Father ! I may come to Thee 
Even with the beggar's plea, 
As the poorest of Thy poor, 
With my needs and nothing more. 



10 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

Not as one who seeks his home, 

With a step assured, I come; 

Still behind, the tread I hear 

Of my life-companion, Fear; 

Still a shadow deep and vast 

From my westering feet is cast, 

Wavering, doubtful, undefined, 

Never shapen nor outlined ; 

From myself the fear has grown, 

And the shadow is my own. 

Yet, O Lord, through all a sense 

Of Thy tender providence 

Stays my failing heart on Thee, 

And confirms the feeble knee; 

And, at times, my worn feet press 

Spaces of cool quietness, 

Lilied whiteness shone upon 

Not by light of moon or sun. 

Hours there be of inmost calm, 

Broken but by grateful psalm, 

When I love Thee more than fear Thee, 

And Thy blessed Christ seems near me, 



Prayers from ifye Poets. 11 

With forgiving look, as when 

He beheld the Magdalen. 

Well I know that all things move 

To the spheral rhythm of love, — 

That to Thee, O Lord of all, 

Nothing can of chance befall; 

Child and seraph, mote and star, 

Well Thou knowest what we are ! 

Through Thy vast creative plan 

Looking, from the worm to man, 

There is pity in Thine eyes, 

But no hatred nor surprise. 

Not in blind caprice of will, 

Not in cunning sleight of skill, 

Not for show of power, was wrought 

Nature's marvel in Thy thought. 

Never careless hand and vain 

Smites these chords of joy and pain. 

No immortal selfishness 

Plays the game of curse and bless ; 

Heaven and earth are witnesses 

That Thy glory goodness is. 



12 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

But as atmosphere and zone 
Of Thy loving heart alone. 
Man, who walketh in a show, 
Sees before him, to and fro, 
Shadow and illusion go ; 
All things flow and fluctuate, 
Now contract and now dilate, 
In the welter of the sea, 
Nothing stable is but Thee ; 
In this whirl of swooning trance, 
Thou alone art permanence ; 
All without Thee only seems, 
All beside is choice of dreams. 
Never yet in darkest mood 
Doubted I that Thou wast good. 
Nor mistook my will for fate, 
Pain of sin for heavenly hate, — 
Never dreamed the gates of pearl 
Rise from out the burning marl, 
Or that good can only live 
Of the bad conservative, 
And through counterpoise of hell 



prayers from tfye Poets. 13 

Heaven alone be possible. 

For myself alone I doubt ; 

All is well, I know, without ; 

I alone the beauty mar, 

I alone the music jar, 

Yet, with hands by evil stained, 

And an ear by discord pained, 

lam groping for the keys 

Of the heavenly harmonies ; 

Still within my heart I bear 

Love for all things good and fair. 

Hands of want or souls in pain 

Have not sought my door in vain; 

I have kept my fealty good 

To the human brotherhood ; 

Scarcely have I asked in prayer 

That which others might not share. 

I who hear with secret shame 

Praise that paineth more than blame, 

Rich alone in favors lent, 

Virtuous by accident, 

Doubtful where I fain would rest, 



14 Prayers from tfye poets. 

Frailest where I seem the best, 
Only strong for lack of test, — 
What am I that I should press 
Special pleas of selfishness, 
Coolly mounting into heaven 
On my neighbor unforgiven ? 
Ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, 
Comes a saint unrecognized ; 
Never fails my heart to greet 
Noble deed with warmer beat ; 
Halt and maimed, I own not less 
All the grace of holiness ; 
Nor, through shame or self-distrust, 
Less I love the pure and just. 
Lord, forgive these words of mine ; 
What have I that is not Thine? — 
Whatsoe'er I fain would boast 
Needs Thy pitying pardon most. 
Thou, O Elder Brother, who 
In thy flesh our trial knew, 
Thou who hast been touched by these 
Our most sad infirmities, 



Prayers front tfye Poets. 15 

Thou alone the gulf canst span 

In the dual heart of man, 

And between the soul and sense 

Reconcile all difference, 

Change the dream of me and mine 

For the truth of Thee and Thine, 

And, through chaos, doubt and strife, 

Interfuse Thy calm of life. 

Haply, thus by Thee renewed, 

In Thy borrowed goodness good, 

Some sweet morning yet in God's 

Dim, aeonian periods, 

Joyful I shall wake to see 

Those I love who rest in Thee, 

And to them in Thee allied 

Shall my soul be satisfied. 

Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me 

What the future life may be. 

Other lips may well be bold ; 

Like the publican of old, 

I can only urge the plea, 

;i Lord, be merciful to me ! " 



16 Prayers from tfye Poets* 

Nothing of desert I claim, 
Unto me belongeth shame. 
Not for me the crowns of gold, 
Palms and harpings manifold * 
Not for erring eye and feet 
Jasper wall and golden street. 
What Thou wilt, O Father, give ! 
All is gain that I receive. 
If my voice I may not raise 
In the elder's song of praise, 
If I may not sin-defiled, 
Claim my birthright as a child. 
Suffer it that I to Thee 
As an hired servant be ; 
Let the lowliest task be mine, 
Grateful so the work be Thine ; 
Let me find the humblest place 
In the shadow of Thy grace : 
Blest to me were any spot 
Where temptation whispers not. 
If there be some weaker one, 
Give me strength to help him on , 



Prayers from tfyc Poets, 17 

If a blinder soul there be, 
Let me guide him nearer Thee. 
Make my mortal dreams come true 
With the work I fain would do ; 
Clothe with life the weak intent, 
Let me be the thing I meant ; 
Let me find in Thy employ 
Peace that dearer is than joy: 
Out of self to love be led 
And to heaven acclimated 
Until all things sweet and good 
Seem my natural habitude. 



Thus did Andrew Rykman pray. 

Are we wiser, better grown, 
That we may not, in our day, 

Make his prayer our own ? 



18 Prayers from tf)e Poets. 



Our Master. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Immortal Love, forever full, 

Forever flowing free, 
Forever shared, forever whole, 

A never-ebbing sea ! 

Our outward lips confess the name 

All other names above ; 
Love only knoweth whence it came, 

And comprehendeth love. 

Blow, winds of God, awake and blow 

The mists of earth away ; 
Shine out, O Light Divine, and show 

How wide and far we stray ! 

Hush every lip, close every book, 
The strife of tongues forebear; 

Why forward reach, or backward look, 
For love that clasps like air ? 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 19 

We may not climb the heavenly steeps 
To bring the Lord Christ down ; 

In vain we search the lowest deeps, 
For him no depths can drown. 

Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, 

The lineaments restore 
Of him we know in outward shape 
And in the flesh no more. 

He cometh not a king to reign ; 

The world's long hope is dim ; 
The weary centuries watch in vain 

The clouds of heaven for him. 

Death comes, life goes ; the asking eye 

And ear are answerless ; 
The grave is dumb, the hollow sky 

Is sad with silentness. 

The letter fails, and systems fall, 

And every symbol wanes; 
The Spirit over-brooding all 

Eternal Love remains. 



20 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

And not for signs in heaven above 

Or earth below they look, 
Who know with John his smile of love, 

With Peter his rebuke. 

In joy of inward peace or sense 

Of sorrow over sin 
He is his own best evidence, 

His witness is within. 

No fable old, nor mythic lore, 
Nor dream of bards and seers, 

No dead fact stranded on the shore 
Of the oblivious years ; 

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 

A present help is he 
And faith has still its Olivet, 

And love its Galilee. 

The healing of his seamless dress 

Is by our beds of pain ; 
We touch him in life's throng and press, 

And we are whole again. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 21 

Through him the first fond prayers are 
said 

Our lips of childhood frame, 
The last low whispers of our dead 

Are burdened with his name. 

O Lord and Master of us all ! 

Whate'er our name or sign, 
We own thy sway, we hear thy call, 

We test our lives by thine. 

Thou judgest us; thy purity 

Doth all our lusts condemn 
The love that draws us nearer thee 

Is hot with wrath to them. 

Our thoughts lie open to thy sight; 

And, naked to thy glance, 
Our secret sins are in the light 

Of thy pure countenance. 

Thy healing pains, a keen distress 
Thy tender light shines in ■ 



22 Prayers from tlje Poets. 

Thy sweetness is the bitterness, 
Thy grace the pang of sin. 

Yet, weak and blinded though we be, 
Thou dost our service own ; 

We bring our varying gifts to thee 
And thou rejectest none. 

To thee our full humanity, 

Its joys and pains -belong ; 
The wrong of man to man on thee 

Inflicts a deeper wrong. 

Who hates, hates thee ; who loves, 
becomes 

Therein to thee allied ; 
All sw r eet accords of hearts and homes 

In thee are multiplied. 

Deep strike thy roots, O heavenly Vine, 

Within our earthly sod, 
Most human and yet most divine, 

The flower of man and God! 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 23 

O Love ! O Life ! Our faith and sight 

Thy presence maketh one ; 
As through transfigured clouds of white 

We trace the noon-day sun. 

So, to our mortal eyes subdued, 
Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, 

We know in thee the fatherhood 
And heart of God revealed. 

We faintly hear, we dimly see, 
In differing phrase we pray; 

But dim or clear, we own in thee 
The Light, the Truth, the Way ! 

The homage that we render thee 

Is still our Father's own ; 
Nor jealous claim or rivalry 

Divides the Cross and Throne. 

To do thy will is more than praise, 
As words are less than deeds, 

And simple trust can find thy ways 
We miss with chart of creeds. 



24 prayers from tfye Poets. 

No pride of self thy service hath, 
No place for me and mine ; 

Our human strength is weakness, death 
Our life, apart from thine. 

Apart from thee all gain is loss, 

All labor vainly done ; 
The solemn shadow of thy Cross 

Is better than the sun. 

Alone, O Love ineffable! 

Thy saving name is given ; 
To turn aside from thee is hell, 

To walk with thee is heaven ! 

How vain, secure in all thou art, 
Our noisy championship ! — 

The sighing of the contrite heart 
Is more than flattering lip. 

Not thine the bigots partial plea. 

Nor thine the zealot's ban ; 
Thou w T ell canst spare a love of thee 

Which ends in hate of man. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 25 

Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord 
What may thy service be ? — 

Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, 
But simply following thee. 

We bring no ghastly holocaust, 

We pile no graven stone ; 
He serves thee best who loveth most 

His brothers and thy own. 

Thy litanies, sweet offices 

Of love and gratitude ; 
Thy sacramental liturgies, 

The joy of doing good. 

In vain shall waves of incense drift 

The vaulted nave around, 
In vain the minster turret lift 

Its brazen weight of sound. 

The heart must ring thy Christmas bells, 

Thy inward altars raise ; 
Its faith and hope thy canticles, 

And its obedience praise ! 



26 Prayers front tfye Poets, 



Prayer from "Isobel's Child." 

MRS. E. B. BROWNING. 

Dear Lord, Dear Lord ! 
Thou, who didst not erst deny 
The mother-joy to Mary mild, 
Blessed in the blessed child, 
Whichhearkened in meek babyhood 
Her cradle-hymn, albeit used 
To all that music interfused 
In breasts of angels high and good ! 
Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away — 
Oh, take not to thy songful heaven, 
The pretty baby thou hast given, 
Or ere that I have seen him play 
Around his father's knees, and known 
That he knew how my love has gone 
From all the world to him. 
Think, God among the cherubim, 
How I shall shiver every day 
In thy June sunshine, knowing where 



Prayers from ifye Poets. 27 

The grave-grass keeps it from his fair 

Still cheeks ! and feel, at every tread, 

His little body which is dead 

And hidden in the turfy fold, 

Doth make thy whole warm earth a-cold ! 

God, I am so young, so young — 

1 am not used to tears at nights 
Instead of slumber — not to prayer 
With sobbing lips and hands outwrung! 
Thou knowest all my prayings were 

" I bless thee, God, for past delights — 
Thank God ! " I am not used to bear 
Hard thoughts of death. The earth doth 

cover 
No face from me of friend or lover; 
And must the first who teaches me 
The form of shrouds and funerals, be 
Mine own first-born beloved ? he 
Who taught me first this mother-love? 
Dear Lord, who spreadest out above 
Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet 
All lifted hearts with blessing sweet,— 



28 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

Pierce not my heart, my tender heart 
Thou madest tender! Thou who art 
So happy in thy heaven alway, 
Take not mine only bliss away ! 

"* * * 7f •* 

I changed the cruel prayer I made, 

And bowed my meekened face and prayed 

That God would do His will! and thus 

He did it, nurse; He parted us. 

And His sun shows victorious 

The dead, calm face ; — and I am calm ; 

And heaven is hearkening a new psalm. 



PRAYER FROM " RABBI BEN EZRA." 

ROBERT BROWNING. 

But I need, now as then, 

Thee, God, who mouldest men ! 

And since, not even while the whirl was 

worst, 
Did I, — to the wheel of life 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 29 

With shapes and colors rife, 
Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake 
Thy thirst ; 

So, take and use thy work, 

Amend what flaws may lurk, 

What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past 
the aim ! 

My times be in Thy hand ! 

Perfect the cup as planned ! 

Let age approve of youth, and death com- 
plete the same ! 



30 Prayers from tfye Poets. 



EVENING. 

JOSEPH ANSTICE. 

Father, by thy love and power 
Comes again the evening hour; 
Light has vanished, labors cease, 
Weary creatures rest in peace. 
Thou whose genial dews distil - 

On the lowliest weed that grows, 
Father, guard our couch from ill, 

Lull thy children to repose. 
We, to thee our souls resign, 
Let our latest thoughts be thine. 

Saviour, to thy Father bear 
This our feeble evening prayer; 
Thou hast seen how oft to-day 
We, like sheep, have gone astray ; 
Worldly thoughts, and thoughts of pride, 

Wishes, to thy cross untrue, 
Secret faults, and undescried, 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 31 

Meet thy spirit-piercing view, 
Blessed Saviour, yet through thee 
Pray that these may pardoned be. 

Holy Spirit, breath of balm 
Fall on us in evening's calm ; 
Yet awhile before we sleep 
We with thee will vigils keep ; 
Lead us on our sins to muse • 

Give us truest penitence; 
Then the love of God infuse, 

Breathing humble confidence ; 
Melt our spirits, mould our will, 
Soften, strengthen, comfort still. 

Blessed Trinity, be near 

Through the hours of darkness drear ; 

When the help of man is far, 

Ye more clearly present are ; 

Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 

Watch o'er our defenceless head, 
Let your angels' guardian host, 



32 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

Keep all evil from our bed, 
Till the flood of morning's rays 
Wake us to a song of praise. 



LEAD ME. 

SAMUEL DOWSE ROBBINS. 

My Father, take my hand, for I am prone 
To danger, and I fear to go alone. 
I trust thy guidance. Father, take my hand ; 
Lead thy child safely through the desert 

land. 
The way is dark before me ; take my hand, 
For light can only come at thy command. 
Clinging to thy dear love, no doubt I know, 
That love will cheer my way where'er I go. 
Father, the storm is breaking o'er me wild ; 
I feel its bitterness ; protect thy child. 
The tempest-clouds are flying thro' the air ; 
Oh, take my hand, and save me from despair. 
Father as I ascend the craggy steep 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 33 

That leads me to thy temple, let me keep 
My hand in thine, so I can conquer time 
And by thine aiding to thy bosom climb. 
Father, I feel the damp upon my brow, 
The chill of death is falling on me now ; 
Soon from earth's flitting shadows I must 

part ; 
My Father, take my hand, thou hast my 

heart. 



PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

WRITTEN IN HER BOOK OF DEVOTION JUST BEFORE 
HER EXECUTION. 

[Translated by James Tollman Clarke.] 

Master and Maker! my hope is in thee, 
My Jesus dear Savior ! now set my soul free. 
From this my hard prison, my spirit uprisen, 

Soars upward to thee. 
Thus moaning and groaning and bending 
the knee 

1 adore and implore that thou liberate me. 



34 Prayers from tfye Poets. 



THE MASTER'S TOUCH. 

HORATIUS BONAR. 

In the still air the music lies unheard; 
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen ; 
To make the music and the beauty, needs 
The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel 
keen. 

Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand ; 
Let not the music that is in us die! 
Great sculptor, hew and polish us ; nor let 
Hidden and lost, thy form w 7 ithin us lie ! 

Spare not the stroke ! do with us as thou 

wilt ; 
Let there be nought unfinished, broken, 

marred ; 
Complete thy purpose, that we may become 
Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord ! 



Prayers from tfye Poets. o5 

PRAYER FOR DIRECTION, 

JOHN STUART BLACK1E. 

Lord of might and glory, 

On my knees I bow before Thee, 

With my whole heart I adore Thee, 

Great Lord ! 
Listen to my cry, O Lord ! 

Passions proud and fierce have ruled me, 
Fancies light and vain have fooled me, 
But Thy training stern hath schooled me ; 

Now, Lord, 
Take me for Thy Child, O Lord ! 

Groping dim, and bending lowly, 
Mortal vision catcheth slowly 
Glimpses of the pure and holy ; 

Now, Lord, 
Open Thou mine eyes, O Lord ! 



36 Prayers front tfye Poets. 



Not with lofty thoughts far-reaching, 
Not with blasts of mightful preaching, 
But with heart that waits Thy teaching, 

Good Lord, 
Let me learn from Thee, O Lord ! 

Not where dazzling glories win us, 
Not where sounding plaudits din us, 
But Thy kingdom is within us, 

There, Lord, 
Let Thy truth teach me, O Lord! 

In the deed that no man knoweth, 
Where no praiseful trumpet bloweth, 
Where he may not reap who soweth, 

There, Lord, 
Let my heart serve Thee, O Lord ! 

In the work that no gold payeth, 
Where he speedeth best who prayeth, 
Doeth most who little sayeth, 

There, Lord, 
Let me work Thy will, O Lord ! 



Prayers from tt?e Poets* 37 

In His name who, meek and lowly, 
Died to make poor sinners holy, 
Stumbling oft, and creeping slowly, 
Great Lord, 
Guide me by Thy truth, O Lord ! 



PRAYER IMITATED FROM THE PERSIAN, 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 



Lord ! who art merciful as well as just, 
Incline thine ear to me, a child of dust! 
Not what I would, O Lord, I offer thee, 

Alas ! but what I can. 
Father Almighty, who hast made me man, 
And bade me look to heaven, for thou art 

there, 
Accept my sacrifice and humble prayer ; 
Four things which are not in thy treasury 
I lay before thee, Lord, with this petition, 
My nothingness and wants, 
My sins and my contrition. 



38 Prayers from the Poets, 



PRAYER OF MILDRED, FROM "MISTRESS 
OF THE MANSE." 

J. G. HOLLAND. 

" Oh, Father, Father!" thus she prayed ; 

" Thou knowest the priceless boon I seek ! 
Before my life, abashed, dismayed 

I stand, with hopeless hands and weak, 
Of him and of myself afraid ! 

" Teach me and lead me where to find, 
Beyond the touch of hand or lip, 

That vital charm of heart and mind 
Which in a true companionship, 

My feebler life to his shall bind ! 

" His ladder leans upon the sun ; 

I cannot climb it ; give me wings ; 
Grant that my deeds, divinely done, 

May be appraised divinest things, 
Though they be little every one. 



Prayers from tfye poets. 39 

"His stride is strong ; his steps are high ; 

May not my deeds be little stairs 
That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh, 

Till at the summit, unawares, 
We stand with equal foot and eye ? 

"If further down toward Nature's heart 
His root is struck, commanding springs 

In whose deep life I have no part, 
Send me on recompensing wings, 

The rain that gathers where thou art! 

"Oh, give me vision to divine 

What he with delving hand explores ! 

Feed me with flame that shall refine 
To finest gold the rugged ores, 

His strong hands gather from the mine ! 

"So, dearest Father, shall no sloth, 
Or weakness of my weaker soul, 

Delay him in his kingly growth, 
Or hold him meanly from the goal 

That shines with guerdon for us both." 



40 Prayers from tfyc Poets, 

PRAYER OF PAUL, IN U KATHRINA." 

J. G. HOLLAND. 

O ! God ! be merciful to me 

A reprobate ! I have blasphemed thy name, 

Abused thy patient love, and held from thee 

My heart and life ! and now, in my extreme 

Of need and of despair, I come to thee, 

O ! cast me not away, for here, at last, 

After a life of selfishness and sin, 

I yield my will to thine, and pledge my 
soul — 

All that I am, all I can ever be — 
Supremely to thy service. I renounce 
All worldly aims, all selfish enterprise, 
And dedicate the remnant of my power 
To thee and those thou lovest. Comfort me ! 
O ! come and comfort me for I despair ! 
Give my thy peace, for I am rent and tossed ! 
Feed me with love, else I shall die of want ! 
Behold ! I empty out my worthlessness, 
And beg thee to come in, and fill my soul 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 41 

With thy rich presence. I adore thy love ; 
I seek for thy approval ; I bow down, 
And worship thee, the Excellence Supreme. 
I've tasted of the sweetest that the world 
Can give to me ; and human love and praise, 
And all of excellence within the scope 
Of my conception, and my power to reach 
And realize in highest forms of art, 
Have left me hungry, thirsty for thyself, 
O, feed and fire me! Fill and furnish me! 
And if thou hast for me some humble task — 
Some service for thyself, or for thy own — 
Reveal it to thy sad repentant child 
Or use him as thy willing instrument. 
I ask it for the sake of Jesus Christ ; 
Henceforth my Master ! 



42 Prayers from tfye Poets* 



EVENING PRAYER, 

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 

Take unto Thyself, O Father, 

This folded day of Thine, 

This weary day of mine, 
Its ragged corners cut me yet, 
O, still the jar and fret ! 
Father do not forget 

That I am tired 
With this day of Thine. 

Breathe Thy pure breath, watching Father, 
On this marred day of Thine, 
This erring day of mine ! 

Wash it white of stain and spot ! 

0, cleanse its every blot ! 

Reproachful Eyes ! remember not 
That I have grieved Thee 
On this day of Thine ! 



prayers from tfye Poets. 43 



SONNET. 

MICHAEL ANGELO. 
[Translated by Samuel Wordsworth.] 

The prayers I make will then be sweet in- 
deed, 
If thou the spirit give by which I pray ; 
My unassisted heart is barren clay, 
That of its native self can nothing feed. 
Of good and pious works thou art the seed 
That quickens only where thou say'st it may. 
Unless thou show to us thine own true way, 
No man can find it; Father, thou must lead. 
Do thou then breathe those thoughts into 

my mind 
By which such virtue may in me be bred 
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread ; 
The fetters of my tongue do thou unbind 
That I may have the power to sing of thee, 
And sound thy praises everlastingly. 



44 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

A PRAYER. 

LORD LYTTON. 

My Savior, dare I come to thee, 

Who let the little children come? 

But I? . . . . my soul is faint in me! 

I come from wandering to and fro 

This weary w T orld. There still his round 

The Accuser goes ; but thee I found 

Not anywhere. Both joy and woe 

Have passed me by. I am too weak 

To grieve or smile. And yet I know 

The tears lie deep in all I do. 

The homeless that are sick for home 

Are not so wretched. Ere it break 

Receive my heart ; and for the sake, 

Not of my sorrows, but of thine, 

Bend down thy holy eyes on mine, 

Which are too full of misery 

To see thee clearly, though they seek. 

Yet, if I heard thy voice say — "Come," 

So might I, dying, die near thee. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 45 

It shames me not, to have passed by 
The temple doors in every street 
Where men profaned thee ; but that I 
Have left neglected, choked with weeds^ 
Defrauded of its incense sweet 
From holy thoughts and loyal deeds 
The fane thou gavest me to enshrine 
Thee in, this wretched heart of mine. 
The satyr there hath entered in ; 
The owl that loves the darkened hour ; 
And obscene shapes of night and sin 
Still haunt where God designed a bower 
For angels. 

Yet I will not say 
How oft I have aspired in vain, 
How toiled along the rugged way, 
And held my faith above my pain, 
For this thou knowest. Thou knowest 

when 
I faltered, and when was strong ; 
And how from that of other men 
My fate was different ; all the wrong 



46 Prayers from tfye Poets* 

Which devastated hope in me ; 

The ravaged years ; the excited heart, 

That found in pain its only part 

Of love ; the master misery 

That shattered all my early years, 

From which in vain I sought to flee ; 

Thou know'st the long repentant tears, 

Thou heard'st me cry against the spheres, 

So sharp my anguish seemed to be ! 

All this thou knowest. Though I should 

keep 
Silence, thou knowest my hands were free 
From sin, when all things cried to me 
To sin. Thou knowest that had I rolled 
My soul in hell-flame, fifty-fold, 
My sorrow could not be more deep. 
Lord ! there is nothing hid from thee. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 47 



MY JESUS, AS THOU WILT. 

BENJAMIN SCHMOLKE. 
[Translated by Jane Barthwick.l 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

Oh, may thy will be mine ! 
Into thy hand of love 

I would my all resign ; 
Through sorrow, or through joy, 

Conduct me as thine own, 
And help me still to say, 

My Lord, thy will be done ! 

My Jesus as thou wilt I 

If needy here and poor, 
Give rne thy people's bread, 

Their portion rich and sure; 
The manna of thy word 

Let my soul feed upon ; 
And if all else should fail, 

My Lord, thy will be done! 



48 prayers from tfye poet?. 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

If among thorns I go, 
Still sometimes here and there 

Let a few roses blow. 
But thou on earth along 

The thorny path hast gone, 
Then lead me after thee, 

My Lord, thy will be done! 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

Though seen through many a tear, 
Let not my star of hope 

Grow dim or disappear ; 
Since thou on earth hast wept, 

And sorrowed oft alone, 
If I must weep with thee, 

My Lord, thy will be done ! 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

If loved ones must depart, 
Suffer not sorrow's flood 

To overwhelm my heart ; 



prayers from tfye Poets. 49 

For they are blest with thee, 
Their race and conflict won ; 

Let me but follow them, 
My Lord, thy will be done ! 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

When death itself draws nigh, 
To thy dear wounded side 

I would for refuge fly. 
Leaning on thee I go 

Where thou before hast gone ; 
The rest as thou shalt please, 

My Lord, thy will be done ! 

My Jesus, as thou wilt ! 

All shall be well for me ; 
Each changing future scene 

I gladly trust with thee ; 
Straight to my home above 

I travel calmly on, 
And sing in life or death, 

My Lord, thy will be done ! 



50 Prayers from tfye Poets, 



PRAYER FROM "THE CHILDREN OF THE 
LORD'S SUPPER." 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

God of the universe, hear me ! thou fountain 

of Love everlasting 
Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up 

my prayer to thy heaven ! 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one 

spirit of all these, 
Whom thou hast given me here ! I have 

loved them all like a father. 
May they bear witness for me, that I taught 

them the way of salvation, 
Faithful so far as I knew, of thy word ; 

again may they know me, 
Fall on their teacher's breast, and before 

thy face may I place them, 
Pure as they now are, but only more tried, 

and exclaiming with gladness, 
Father, lo ! I am here and the children, 

whom thou hast given me ! 



Prayers from tfjc Poets. 51 



A WORKER'S PRAYER. 

^ AXCIS RIDLEY HAYERGAL. 

Lord, speak to mv., 

In living echoes of thy ffi5£ s P eak 
As Thou hast sought, so let me seek 

Thy erring children, lost and lone. 

O lead me, Lord, that I may lead 

The wandering and the wavering feet ; 

O feed me, Lord, that I may feed 

Thy hungering ones with manna sweet. 

strengthen me, that while I stand 
Firm on the Rock and strong in thee, 

1 may stretch out a loving hand 

To wrestlers with the troubled sea. 

O teach me, Lord, that I may teach 
The precious things thou dost impart ; 

And wing my w T ords, that they may reach 
The hidden depths of many a heart. 



52 Prayers from tfyc Poets, 

O give thine own sweet rest to me, 

That I may speak with soothing po»"- 

A word in season, as from t\ 

-cediul hour. 
To weary o^- 

xiii me with thy fullness, Lord, 
Until my very heart o'erflow 
In kindling thought and glowing word, 
Thy love to tell, thy praise to show. 

O use me, Lord, use even me, 

Just as thou wilt, and when and where; 
Until thy bless'd face I see, 

Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share. 



Players from tfye Poets. 53 

SUNDAY EVENING PRAYER. 

FRANCIS RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 

Rest him, O Father! Thou didst send him 

forth 
With great and gracious messages of love ; 
But thy ambassador is weary now, 
Worn with the weight of his high embassy, 
Now care for him as thou hast cared for us 
In sending him; and cause him to lie down 
In thy fresh pastures, by thy streams of 

peace. 
Let thy left hand be now beneath his head. 
And thine upholding right encircle him, 
And, underneath, the Everlasting arms 
Be felt in full support. So let him rest, 
Hushed like a little child, without one care, 
And so give thy beloved sleep to-night. 

Rest him, dear Master! He hath poured 
for us 

The wine of joy, and we have been re- 
freshed. 



54 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

Now fill his chalice, give him sweet new 

draughts 
Of life and love, with Thine own hand ; be 

thou 
His ministrant to-night ; draw very near 
In all thy tenderness and all thy power. 
Oh speak to him ! thou knowest how to 

speak 
A word in season to thy weary ones, 
And he is weary now. Thou lovest him — 
Let thy disciple lean upon thy breast, 
And leaning, gain new strength to rise and 

shine ! 

Rest him, O loving Spirit ! Let thy calm 
Fall on his soul to-night. O holy Dove, 
Spread thy bright wing above him, let him 

rest 
Beneath its shadow ; let him know afresh 
The infinite truth and might of thy dear 

name — 
Our Comforter! As gentlest touch will stay 



Prayers from the Poets. 55 

The strong vibrations of a jarring chord, 
So lay thy hand upon his heart, and still 
Each overstraining throb, each pulsing pain, 
Then in the stillness, breathe upon the 

strings, 
And let thy holy music overflow 
With soothing power his listening, resting 

soul. 



PRAYER FROM THE "LIVING TEMPLE." 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

O Father! grant thy love divine 
To make these mystic temples thine ! 
When wasting age and wearying strife 
Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 
When darkness gathers over all, 
And the last tottering pillars fall, 
Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, 
And mould it into heavenly forms! 



56 prayers from tfje poets. 

ADAM'S MORNING PRAYER. 

JOHN MILTON. 

These are thy glorious works, Parent of 

Good, 
Almighty, thine this universal frame, 
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous 

then ! 
Unspeakable, who sit'st above these 

Heavens 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power 

divine. 
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. 
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, 
Circle his throne rejoicing! ye in heaven; 
On earth join all ye creatures to extol 
Him first, him last, him midst and without 

end. 
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 



prayers from tfye poets* 57 

If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smil- 
ing morn 
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy 

sphere, 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime, 
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and 

soul, 
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his 

praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou 

ciimb'st, 
And when high noon hast gained, and when 

thou fall'st. 
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now 

fly'st, 
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that 

flies, 
And ye five other wand'ring fires that move 
In mystic dance not without song, resound 
Hh praise, who out of darkness called up 

light. 



58 prayers front tfye Poets. 

Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth 

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 

Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 

And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless 

change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, 
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with 

gold, 
In honor to the world's great Author rise, 
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured 

sky, 
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling 

showers, 
Rising or falling still advance his praise. 
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quar- 
ters blow 
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye 

Pines, 
With every plant ; in sign of worship wive. 
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flov, 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 59 

Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his 

Praise. 
Join voices all ye living Souls ; ye Birds, 
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his 

praise. 
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
Witness if I be silent, morn or even, 
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, 
Made vocal by my song, and taught his 

praise. 
Hail, Universal Lord, be bounteous still 
To give us only good ; and if the night 
Have gathered ought of evil, or concealed 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 



u 



(JO prayers from t£?e poet?, 

MILTON'S PRAYER IN BLINDNESS. 

E. L. HOWELL. 

merciful One ! 

When men are farthest, then thou art most 

near ; 
When friends pass by me, and my weakness 

shun, 

Thy chariot I hear. 

Thy glorious face 
Is leaning toward me ; and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place, — 

And there is no more night. 

On my bended knee 
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown : 
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see 

Thyself, — thyself alone. 

1 have naught to fear ; 

This darkness is the shadow of thy wing ; 
Beneath it I am almost sacred ; here 
Can come no evil thing. 



q x/x ^^> riont tfyc poets. 61 

O, I seem to stand 
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath 

been ; 
Wrapped in the radiance of thy sinless land, 

Which eye hath never seen ! 



ADAM'S EVENING PRAYER. 

JOHN MILTON. 

Thou also mad'st the night, 
Maker omnipotent, and thou the day, 
Which we in our appointed work employed 
Have finished, happy in our mutual help 
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss 
Ordained by thee ; and this delicious place 
For us too large, where thy abundance 

wants 
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. 
But thou hast promised from us two a race 
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol 
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake 
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. 



62 



prayers t**~ *hz poets. 



A PRAYER. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

God! do not let my loved one die, 

But rather wait until the time 
That I am grown in purity 

Enough to enter thy pure clime, 
Then take me I will gladly go, 

So that my love remain below ! 

O, let her stay ! She is by birth 

What I through death must learn to be ; 
We need her more on our poor earth 

Than thou canst need in heaven with thee ; 
She hath her wings already, I 

Must burst this earth- shell ere I fly. 

Then, God, take me ! We shall be near, 
More near than ever, each to each ; 

Her angel ears will find more clear 

My heavenly than my earthly speech ; 

And still, as I draw nigh to thee, 
Her soul and mine shall closer be. 



prayers from tfye Poets. 63 

ON THE MEMORY OF HOOD. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

O Love Divine, that claspest our tired earth 
And lullest it upon thy heart, 

Thou knowest how much a gentle soul is 
worth 

To teach men what thou art ! 

His was a spirit that to all thy poor 

Was kind as slumber after pain ; 

Why ope so soon thy heaven-deep Quiet's 
door 

And call him home again? 

Freedom needs all her poets: it is they 
Who give her aspirations wings, 

And to the wiser law of music sway 
Her wild imaginings. 

Yet thou hast called him, nor art thou un- 
kind, 

O Love Divine, for 'tis thy will 

That gracious natures leave their love behind 

To work for Freedom still. 



U 



04 prayers from tfye poets. 

A PRAYER FOR TRUTH. 

WILLIAM J. LINTON. 

God ! the Giver of all which men call good 
Or ill, the Origin and Soul of Power! 

1 pray to thee, as all must in their hour 
Of need, for solace, medicine or food, 
Whether aloud or secretly, — understood 

No less by thee, I pray; but not for fame, 
Nor love's best happiness, nor place, nor 

wealth, 
I ask thee only for that spiritual health 
Which is perception of the true, — the same 
As in thy Nature; so to know and aim 
Toward thee my thought, my word, my 

whole of life. 
Then matters little whether care or strife, 
Hot sun or cloud, o'erpass this earthly day ; 
Night cometh, and my star climbeth Thy 

heaven-way. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 65 

A PARENT'S PRAYER. 

LEONARD WITHINGTOX. 

At this hushed hour, when all my children 

sleep, 
Here in thy presence, gracious God, I kneel ; 
And, while the tears of gratitude I weep, 
Would pour the prayer which gratitude 

must feel ; 
Parental Love ! Oh, set thy holy seal 
On these soft hearts which thou to me hath 

. sent ; 
Repel temptation, guard their better weal ; 
Be thy pure spirit to their frailty lent, 
And lead them in the path their infant 

Savior went. 

I ask not for them eminence or wealth, — 
For these, in wisdom's view, are trifling toys; 
But occupation, competence, and health. 
Thy love, thy presence, and the lasting joys 
That flow therefrom ; the passion which 
employs 



66 Prayers from tfye poets. 

The breasts of holy men; and thus to be 
From all that taints, or darkens, or destroys 
The strength of principle, forever free ; 
This is the better boon, O God I ask of thee. 

This world I know is but a narrow bridge, 
And treacherous waters roar and foam below, 
With feeble feet we walk the wooden ridge, 
Which creaks and shakes beneath us as we 

go; 
Some fall by accident, and thousands throw 
Their bodies headlong in the hungry stream, 
Some sink by secret means, and never know 
The hand which struck them from their 

transient dream, 
Till wisdom wakes in death, and in despair 

they scream. 

If these soft feet, which now these feathers 

press, 
Are doomed the paths of ruin soon to tread : 
If vice, concealed in her unspotted dress, 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 67 

Is soon to turn to her polluted bed ; 
If thy foreseeing eye discerns a thread 
Of sable guilt, impelling on their doom, 
Oh, spare them not, — in mercy strike them 

dead ; 
Prepare for them an early, welcome tomb, 
Nor for eternal blight let my false blossoms 

bloom. 

But if some useful path before them lie, 
Where they may walk obedient to thy laws, 
Though never basking in ambition's eye, 
And pampered never with the world's 

applause, 
Active, yet humble, virtuous too, the cause 
Of virtue in the dwellings where they dwell, 
Still following where thy perfect spirit 

draws, 
Releasing others from the bands of hell, 
If this be life, then let them longer live 'tis 

well. 



68 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

How soft they sleep, what innocent repose 
Rests on their eyes, from older sorrows free ; 
Sweet babes, the curtains I would not un- 
close, 
Which wraps the future from your minds 

and me, 
But, Heavenly Father, leaving them with 

thee, 
Whether or high or low may be their lot, 
Or early death, or life await them, be 
Their Guardian, Savior, Guide, and bless 

the spot 
Where they shall live or die ; till death, for- 
sake them not. 

Though persecution's arches o'er them 

spread, 
Or sickness undermine, consuming slow ; 
Though they should lead the life their 

Savior led, 
And his deep poverty be doomed to know ; 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 09 

Wherever thou shalt order let them go ; 

I give them up to thee — they are not mine ; 

And I could call the swiftest winds that 
blow 

To bear them from me to the Pole or Line 

In distant lands to plant the Gospel's bleed- 
ing shrine. 

When as a scroll these heavens shall pass 

away, 
When the cold grave shall offer up its trust, 
When seas shall burn, and the last dreadful 

day 
Restores the spirit to its scattered dust, 
Then, thou most merciful, as well as just, 
Let not my eye, when elements are tossed 
In wild confusion, see that darkest, worst, 
Of painful sights, that ever parent crossed, 
Hear my sad earnest prayer, and let not 

mine be lost. 



70 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

PRAYER FROM "APRIL." 

MISS MULOCKo 

O thou that openest, and no man shuts; 

That shut'st, and no man opens — thee we 
wait ! 

More longingly than the black frost-bound 
lands 

Desire the budding green, Awakener, come! 

Fling wide the gate of an eternal year, 

The April of that glad new heavens and 
earth 

Which shall grow out of these, as spring-tide 
grows 

Slow out of winter's breast. 

Let thy wide hand 

Gather us all — with none left out (O God ! 

Leave thou out none !) from the east and 
from the west, 

Loose thou our burdens ; heal our sick- 
nesses; 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 71 

Give us one heart, one tongue, one faith, 

one love. 
In thy great Oneness made complete and 

strong — 
To do thy work throughout the happy 

world — 
Thy world, All merciful — thy perfect world. 



DIVINE AND HUMAN. 

LUCY LARCOM. 

Jesus, Savior, Friend most dear ! 
Dwell thou with us daily here ! 
By thy own life teach us this — 
How divine the human is! 

One with God, as heart with heart, 
Savior, lift us where thou art ! 
Join us to His life, through thine, 
Human still, though all divine ! 



72 prayers from tfye Poets. 

THE BOY-KING'S PRAYER. 

VICTOR HUGO. 

"O, my good God! O, Mother Maiden 

sweet! " 
He said, "I was the worm beneath men's 

feet ; 
My father's brethren held me in their thrall, 
But thou didst send the Paladin of Gaul, 

Lord ! and show'dst what different spirits 

move 
The good man and the evil ; those who love 
And those who love not. I had been as 

they, 
But, thou O God ! hast saved both life and 

soul to-day. 

1 saw Thee in that noble knight ; I saw 
Pure light, true faith, and honor's sacred law, 
My Father, — and I learnt that monarchs 

must 
Compassionate the weak and unto all be 
just. 



Prayers from tfyc Poets, 73 

Lady Mother! O dear Jesus! thus 
Bowed at the cross where thou didst bleed 

for us, 

1 swear to hold the truth that now I learn, 
Leal to the loyal, to the traitor stern, 
And ever just and nobly mild to be, 
Meet scholar of that prince of Chivalry ; 
And here thy shrine bear witness, Lord, for 

me." 



A PRAYER. 

GEORGE MACDOXALD. 

We doubt the word that tells us ; Ask, 
And ye shall have your prayer ; 

We turn our thoughts as to a task, 
With will constrained and rare. 

And yet we have ; these scanty prayers 

Yield gold without alloy ; 
O God ! but he that trusts and dares 

Must have a boundless joy. 



74 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

MISTAKES. 

s. M. DAY. 

Vouchsafe to keep me this day without sin ! 
Yea, Lord ! from danger, too, for Christ's 
dear sake ! 
Yet more I ask, for more thy help would 
win ! 
In thy deep pity, keep me from mistake ! 

Mistakes of judgment ! when no light I see, 
Yet in my blindness fain would do my best ; 

When to life's problem I can find no key, 
And grope in darkness, with a weight op- 
pressed ! 

Mistakes of loving ! when my heart leaps 
forth 
To answer heart that faithful seems, and 
true ; 
Then learn that hope of gain marks friend- 
ships^ worth, 
That love unselfish is the gift of few ! 



Prayers from tfye poets. 75 



Mistakes in guiding others on through way 
Which shining looks, and leads to sunny- 
heights, 
Only to lose ourselves at close of day, 

And wander in dense woods, through dan- 
gerous night. 

Yet teach me Lord! that if with purpose 
true, 
With unperverted will, I firmly make 
My choice — that is the best that I could do, 
And thou didst mean that I should oft 
mistake ! 

Thus through my failures lead to sure suc- 
cess, 
Through falls to stand on ground that never 
quakes, 
Through error learn thy strength, my fee- 
bleness, 
Climb nearer heaven by means of my mis- 
takes ! 



76 Prayers from tfje poets. 

kk YE DID IT NOT TO ME." 

Jesus I thought I loved thee ; 

I remember well 
That day when thou didst hold 
My trembling fingers in thy pierced hand, 
And take me for thine own. 

And I did love thee — 
This poor heart beat true ; 
It was no fancied echo, when the voice 

That spoke thee mine 

Responded, I am Thine! 
But O my Master ! can I dare to tell, 
Thy faithless child has loved thy gifts too 

well ? 
I looked on -all things beautiful and rare- — 

Looked on earth's flowers, 

And thought them very fair, 
I hid me from the rude and vulgar throng, 

And hoped it was thy will 
That I might turn away from common men, 

And love thee still. 
I dwelt among the pleasant sounds of life ; 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 77 

I did not like the turmoil and the strife 

To come too near; 
And thou wast in the thickest battle-tide 
When thou didst call thy servant to Thy 
side ; 

But I was too far off, 

And so I did not hear. 

My Lord ! I will come nearer. I will take 

my seat 

Close to thy feet. 
I will come down where the gray shadows 

lie, 
And there Til listen — listen every day 

To hear thy voice ! 
It may be I must take a lower place , 
But let me have the shining of Thy face. 
It may be I must seek a humbler home ; 
Let it be one where thou wilt often 

come ; 
It's door shall be upon the latch for thee, 



p 



78 Prayers from tt?e Poets* 

And for the needy ones who claim 
An interest in thy name ; 

And I will stand, and watch, and wait to 
greet 

The first faint echoes of thy coming feet. 



THE PREPARATION OF THE HEART. 

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 

Lord, teach us how to pray aright, 
With reverence and with fear ; 

Though dust and ashes in thy sight, 
We may, we must draw near. 

We perish if we cease from prayer ; 

Oh ! grant us power to pray ; 
And when to meet thee we prepare, 

Lord, meet us by the way. 

Burdened with guilt, convinced of sin, 
In weakness, want and woe, 

Fightings without, and fears within, 
Lord whither shall we go ? 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 79 

God of all grace, we bring to thee 

A broken, contrite heart; 

Give what thine eye delights to see, 
Truth in the inward part. 

Give deep humility ; the sense 

Of godly sorrow give ; 
A strong, desiring confidence 

To hear thy voice and live ; 

Faith in the only Sacrifice 

That can for sin atone ; 
To cast our hopes, to fix our eyes 

On Christ, and Christ alone ; 

Patience to watch, and wait, and weep, 

Though mercy long delay ; 
Courage, our fainting souls to keep, 

And trust thee though thou slay. 

Give these, and then thy will be done ; 

Thus strengthened with all might, 
We, through thy Spirit and thy Son, 
Shall pray and pray aright. 



80 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 

ALEXANDER POPE. 

Father of all ! in every age, 

In every clime adored, 
By saint, by savage and by sage, 

Jehovah, love or Lord ! 

Thou great First Cause, least understood, 

Who all my sense confined 
To know but this, that thou art good, 

And that myself am blind , 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill ; 
And binding nature fast in fate, 

Left free the human will. 

What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do, 
This teach me more than hell to shun, 

That more than heaven pursue. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 81 

What blessings thy free bounty gives 

Let me not cast away . 
For God is paid when man receives ; 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth's contracted span 

Thy goodness let me bound, 
Or think thee Lord alone of man 

When thousand w T orlds are round. 

Let not this weak, unknowing hand 

Presume thy bolts to throw, 
And deal damnation to the land 

On each I judge thy foe. 

If I am right, thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay , 
If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart 

To find that better way ! 

Save me alike from foolish pride, 

Or impious discontent, 
At aught thy wisdom has denied, 
Or aught thy goodness lent. 



82 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

Teach me to feel another's woe, 

To hide the fault I see ; 
That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
Since quickened by thy breath ; 

Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go 
Through this day's life or death. 

This day be bread and peace my lot ; 

All else beneath the sun 
Thou knowest if best bestowed or not. 

And let thy will be done J 

To thee, whose temple is all space, — 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, — 

One chorus let all beings raise! 
All nature's incense rise ! 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 83 

PRAYER FOR SUNDAY. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Lord of all being ! throned afar, 

Thy glory flames from sun and star ; 

Centre and soul of every sphere, 
Yet to each loving heart how near ! 

Sun of our life, thy quickening ray 
Sheds on our path the glow of day ; 

Star of our hope, thy softened light 
Cheers the long watches of the night. 

Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn; 

Our noontide is thy gracious dawn ; 
Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign ; 

All, save the clouds of sin, are thine ! 

Lord of all life, below, above, 

Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love, 
Before thy ever-blazing throne 

We ask no lustre of our own, 



84 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

Grant us thy truth to make us free, 

And kindling hearts that burn for thee, 

Till all thy living altars claim 

One holy light, one heavenly flame ! 



THE SMOKE. 

GEORGE MACDONALD. 

Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar, 
But cannot get the wood to burn , 

It hardly flames ere it begins to falter, 
And to the dark return. 

Old sap, or night-fallen dew, has damped the 
fuel; 

In vain my breath would flame provoke , 
Yet see — at every poor attempt's renewal 

To thee ascends the smoke. 

'Tis all I have — smoke, failure, foiled en- 
deavor, 

Coldness, and doubt, and palsied lack ; 

Such as I have, I send thee ; perfect Giver, 

Send thou thy lightning back ! 



prayers from tfyc poets. 85 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

GEORGE P. MORRIS. 

Searcher of hearts ! from mine erase 
All thoughts that should not be, 

And in its deep recesses trace 
My gratitude to thee ! 

Hearer of prayer ! Oh, guide aright 
Each word and deed of mine ; 

Life's battle teach me how to fight, 
And be the victory thine. 

Giver of all — for every good 

In the Redeemer came, — 
For raiment, shelter and for food, 

I thank thee in his name. 

Father and Son and Holy Ghost! 

Thou glorious three in one ! 
Thou knowest best what I need mos L 

And let thy will be done ! 



8G prayers from tfye Poets 

MY ANGEL DRESS. 

LUCY LARCOM. 

Heavenly Father, I would wear 
Angel garments, white and fair; 
Angel-vesture undefiled 
Wilt thou give unto thy child ? 

Not a robe of many hues, 
Such as earthly father's choose ; 
Discord weaves the gaudy vest ; 
Not in such let me be dressed. 

Take the raiment soiled away 
That I wear with shame to-day ; 
Give my angel-robe to me, 
White with heavenly purity ! 

Take away my cloak of pride, 
And the worthless rags 'twould hide 
Clothe me in my angel-dress, 
Beautiful with holiness! 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 



Perfume every fold with love, 
Hinting heaven where'er I move; 
As an Indian's vessel's sails 
Whisper of her costly bales. 

Let me wear my white robes here, 
Even on earth, my Father dear, 
Holding fast thy hand, and so 
Through the world unspotted go. 

Let me now my white robes wear ; 
Then I need no more prepare ; 
All apparelled for my home 
Whensoe'er thou callest, "Come !" 

Thus apparelled, I shall be 
As a signal set for thee, 
That the wretched and the weak 
May the same fair garments seek. 

" Buy of me," I hear thee say ; 
I have naught wherewith to pay, 
But I give myself to thee ; 
Clothed, adopted I shall be. 



88 prayers from ifye poets, 

HUNGER FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

GEORGE MACDOXALD. 

Father, I cry to thee for bread, 

With hungered longing, eager prayer; 

Thou hear'st and givest me instead 
More hunger and a half despair. 

Lord ! how long? My days decline, 
My youth is lapped in memories old, 

1 need not bread alone, but wine — 

See, cup and hand to thee I hold. 

And yet thou givest ; thanks, O Lord, 
That still my heart with hunger faints ! 

The day will come when at thy board 
I sit forgetting all my plaints. 

If rain must come and winds must blow, 
And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart, 

Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go, 
And keep the faintness at my heart. 



prayers from tfye poets, 89 



LORD, HEAR MY DISCONTENT. 

GEORGE MACDONALD. 

Lord, hear my discontent ; all blank I stand, 

A mirror polished by thy hand ; 

Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me — 

I cannot help it ; here I stand, there he ; 

To. one of them I cannot say, 

Go, and on yonder water play. 

Not one poor ragged daisy can I fashion — 

I do not make the words of this my limping 

passion. 
If I should say, Now I will think a thought, 
Lo ! I must wait, unknowing, 
What thought in me is growing, 
Until the thing to birth is brought ; 
Nor know I then what next will come 
From out the gulf of silence dumb ; 
I am the door the thing did find 
To pass into the general mind ; 
I cannot say I think — 
I only stand upon the thought-well's brink ; 



00 prayers from tlje pools. 

From darkness to the sun the water bubbles 
up— 

1 lift it in my cup. 

Thou only thinkest — I am thought ; 
Me and my thought thou thinkest. 

Naught 
Am I but as a fountain spout 
From which thy water welleth out. 
Thou art the only One, the All in all. 
Yet when my soul on thee doth call 
And thou dost answer out of every where, 
I, in thy allness have my perfect share. 



SHADOWS. 



GEORGE MACDONALD, 



All things are shadows of thee, Lord ; 

The sun himself is but a shade ; 
My soul is but the shadow of thy word, 

A candle sun-bedayed. 



Prayers from ifyc Poets. 01 

Diamonds are shadows of the sun ; 

They drink his rays and show a spark; 
My soul some gleams of thy great shine hath 
won, 

And round me slays the dark. 

All knowledge is but broken shades — 
In gulf of dark a wandering horde ; 

Together rush the parted glory grades . — 
And lo, thy garment, Lord ! 

My soul, the shadow, still is light, 

Because the shadow falls from thee ; 
I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright, 
And home flit shadowv. 



Shine, shine ; make me thy shadow- still— 
The brighter still the more thy shade ; 

My motion be thy lovely, moveless will ! 
My darkness, light delayed ! 



92 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

HALF-SIGHT. 

GEORGE MACDONALD. 

Lord ! if in the wind at cool of day, 

I heard one whispered word of mighty 
grace ; 
If through the darkness as in bed I lay, 
But once had come a hand upon my face ■ 

If but one sign that might not be mistook, 
Had ever been, since first thy face I sought. 

1 should not now be doubting on a book, 

But serving thee with burning heart and 
thought. 

So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, 
Turning my face to front the dark and 
wind , 
Such signs had only barred anew his way 
Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered 
mind. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 93 

They asked the very Way, where lies the way ; 

The very Son, w T here is the Father's face ; 

How he could show himself, if not in clay, 

Who was the Lord of spirit, form and 
space ? 

My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole 
Until thou come behind mine ears and 
eyes, 
Enter and fill the temple of my soul 

With perfect contact — such a sweet sur- 
prise — 

Such presence as before it met the view, 

The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, 
Though every corner of the temple knew 
By very emptiness, its need of thee. 

When I keep all thy words — no favored 
some — 
Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's 
tide, 
Then, Jesus, thou w r ilt with thy Father 
come — 
O ended prayers ! — and in my soul abide. 



94 Prayers from tfyc Poets. 

Ah ! long delay ! ah ! cunning, creeping 

sin ! 

I shall but fail and cease at length to 

try. 

O Jesus ! though thou art not yet come in, 

Knock at my window as thou passest by. 



DOST THOU NOT CARE ? 

CHRISTINA G. ROSETTI. 

I love and love not ; Lord it breaks my heart 
To love and not to love. 

Thus veiled within thy glory, gone apart 

Into thy shrine, which is above. 

Dost thou not love me, Lord, or care 
For this mine ill? 

/ love thee here or there, 

I will accept thy broken heart ; lie still. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 95 

Lord it was well with me in time gone by, 
That cometh not again, 

When I was fresh and cheerful ; worn with 
pain 

Now, out of sight and out of heart ; 
O, Lord, how long? 

/ watch thee as thou art 

I will accept thy fainting heart; be strong. 

"Lie still," " be strong," to-day; but, Lord, 
to-morrow, 

What of to-morrow, Lord? 
Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from 
sorrow, 

Be living green upon the sward 
Now but a barren grave to me, 

Be joy or sorrow? 
Did I not die for thee ? 
Do I not live for thee ? Leave me to-morrow. 



90 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

ANNA L. WARING. 

Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out for me ; 
And the changes that are sure to come, 

I do not fear to see ; 
But I ask thee for a present mind 

Intent on pleasing thee. 

I ask thee for a thankful love, 
Through constant watching wise, 

To meet the glad with joyful smiles, 
And to wipe the weeping eyes, 

And a heart at leisure from itself, 
To soothe and sympathize. 

I would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro, 
Seeking for some great thing to do, 

Or secret thing to know ; 
I would be dealt with as a child, 

And guided where to go. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 97 

Wherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
I have a fellowship with hearts, 

To keep and cultivate ; 
And a work of holy love to do, 

For the Lord on whom I wait. 

I ask thee for the daily strength, 

To none that ask denied ; 
And a mind to blend with outward life 

While keeping at thy side ; 
Content to fill a little space, 

If thou be glorified. 

And if some things I do not ask 

In my cup of blessing be, 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

With grateful love to thee — 
More careful than to serve thee much, 

To please thee perfectly. 

There are briers besetting every path, 

That call for patient care ; 
There is a crook in every lot, 



98 prayers from tfye Poets. 

And a need for earnest prayer ; 
But a lowly heart that leans on Thee, 
Is happy everywhere. 

In a service that Thy love appoints, 
There are no bonds for me, 

For my secret heart is taught the truth 
That makes Thy children " free " ; 

And a life of self-renouncing love 
Is a life of liberty. 



PRAYER FROM " SWEET DEATH." 
Christine g. rosetti. 

And youth and beauty die, 

So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth ; 
Better than beauty and than youth 

Are saints and angels, a glad company ; 
And thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, 

Are better far than these. 
Why should we shrink from our full har- 
vest ? why 

Prefer to glean with Ruth ? 



prayers from tfyc poets. 99 

EVENING PRAYER. 

Father of mercy ! at the close of day, 
My work and duties done, to Thee I pray 

Before I sleep ; 
With clasp'd hands I humbly bow my head, 
And ask Thee, Lord, ere I retire to bed, 
My soul to keep. 

The sins and failings of the day now past, 
The shadows on my soul that they have cast, 

Do Thou forgive ; 
Oh ! purge my life from every taint of sin, 
That I within Thy courts may enter in, 

With Thee To live. 

Whatever sorrow I this day have known, 
I spread it now, O Lord ! before Thy 
throne — 

Oh ! succor send ; 

I w r ould beneath Thy chastening hand be 

still, 
And meekly bow before Thy sovereign will, 
Unto the end. 



100 Prayers from tfye Poets* 

And now, with folded hand upon my breast, 
At peace with Thee, I lay me down to rest 

Upon my bed ; 
May angels guard me through the darksome 

night, 
From troubled dreams, until the morning 
light 

Its beams shall shed. 



THY KINGDOM COME. 

JEREMY TAYLOR. 

Lord ! come away ! 
Why dost thou stay ? 
Thy road is ready ; and thy paths made 

straight ; 
With longing expectation wait 
The consecration of thy beauteous feet ; 
Ride on triumphantly! Behold, we lay 
Our sins and proud wills in thy way ! 
Hosanna ! Welcome to our hearts ! Lord, 

here 
Thou hast a temple, too ; and full as dear 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 101 

As that of Sion, and as full of sin ; 

Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell 
therein ; 

Enter, and chase them forth and cleanse the 
floor! 

Crucify them, that they may never more 
Profane that holy place 

Where thou hast chosen to set thy face ! 

And then, if our stiff tongues shall be 

Mute in the praises of the Deity, 

The stones out of the temple wall 

Shall cry aloud, and call, 

Hosanna ! and thy glorious footsteps greet ! 
Amen ! 



THE SEASONS. 

JAMES THOMSON. 

These as they change, Almighty Father, these 

Are but the varied God. The rolling year 

Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 

Thy beauty walks ; thy tenderness and love 

Wide flush the fields; the softening air is 
balm ; 



102 prayers from tfje Poets, 

Echo the mountains round ; the forest 

smiles ; 
And every sense and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling 

year; 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering 

gales. 
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In winter, awful thou ! with clouds and 

storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest 

rolled, 
Majestic darkness, on the whirlwind's wing, 
Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore, 
And humblest nature with thy northern 

blast. 



Prayers from tfye poets. 103 

PRAYER FROM "IN MEMORIAM." 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 

Whom we that have not seen thy face, 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 

Believing where we cannot prove ; 

Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; 

Thou madest Life in man and brute ; 

Thou madest Death ; and lo, thy foot 
Is on the skull which thou hast made. 

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust ; 
The highest, holiest manhood, thou : 
Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 

Our wills are ours, to make them thine. 

Our little systems have their day ; 

They have their day and cease to be ; 

They are but broken lights of thee, 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 



104 prayers from tfye Poets, 

We have but faith , we cannot know ; 

For knowledge is of things we see ; 

And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness , let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell; 
That mind and soul, according well, 

May make one music as before, 

But vaster. We are fools and slight ; 

We mock thee when we do not fear ; 

But help thy foolish ones to bear, 
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 

Forgive what seemed my sin in me ; 

What seemed my worth since I began ; 

For merit lives from man to man, 
And not from man, O Lord, to thee. 

Forgive my grief for one removed, 
Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 
I trust he lives in thee, and there 

I find him worthier to be loved. 



Prayers from t£?e Poets* 105 

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 
Confusions of a wasted youth ; 
Forgive them where they fail in truth, 

And in thy wisdom make me w r ise. 



UNANSWERED PRAYER. 

RICHARD C. TRENCH. 

Not thou from us, O Lord, but we 
Withdraw ourselves from thee. 

When we are dark and dead, 
And thou art covered with a cloud, 
Hanging before thee, like a shroud, 
So that our prayer can find no way, 
Oh, teach us that we do not say, 
" Where is thy brightness fled ? " 

But that we search and try 

What in ourselves has wrought this blame ; 

For thou remainest still the same, 

But earth's own vapors earth may fill 

With darkness and thick clouds, while still 

The sun is in the sky. 



100 prayers from tfye Poets, 

PRAYER OF THE WILTSHIRE LABORERS. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

O God, who by thy prophet's hand 

Didst smite the rocky brake, 
Whence water came at thy command 

Thy people's thirst to slake ; 
Strike now upon this granite wall, 

Stern, obdurate and high ; 
And let some drops of pity fall 

For us who starve and die ! 



The God who took a little child, 

And set him in the midst, 
And promised him his mercy mild, 

As by thy Son, thou didst ; 
Look down upon our children dear, 

So gaunt, so cold, so spare, 
And let their images appear, 

Where lords and gentry are 1 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 107 

Oh God, teach them to feel how we, 

When our poor infants droop, 
Are weakened in our trust in thee, 

And how our spirits stoop ; 
For in thy rest, so bright and fair, 

All tears and sorrows sleep ;' 
And their young looks, so full of care, 

Would make their angels weep ! 

The God who with his finger drew 

The judgment coming on, 
Write for these men, what must ensue, 

Ere many years be gone ! 
O God, whose bow is in the sky, 

Let them not brave and dare, 
Until they look, too late, on high, 

And see an arrow there ! 

Oh God, remind them ! In the bread 

They break upon the knee, 
Those sacred words may yet be read 

"In Memory of Me ! " 



108 prayers from tf)e poets. 

Oh God, remind them of his sweet 
Compassion for the poor, 

And how he gave them bread to eat, 
And went from door to door ! 



A PRAYER. 

ALICE CARY. 

I have been little used to frame 

Wishes to speech and call it prayer ; 

To-day, my Father, in thy name, 
I ask to have my soul stript bare 

Of all its vain pretense, — to see 
Myself, as I am seen by thee. 

I want to know how much the pain 
And passion here, its powers abate ; 

To take its thoughts, a tangled skein, 
And stretch them out all smooth and 
straight ; 

To track its wavering course through sin 
And sorrow, to its origin. 



Prayers from tfye poets. 109 

I want to know if in the night 
Of evil, grace doth so abound, 

That from its darkness we draw light, 
As flowers do beauty from the ground : 

Or, if the sins of time shall be 
The shadows of eternity. 

I want, though only for an hour, 
To be myself, — to get more near 

The wondrous mystery and power 
Of love, whose echoes floating here, 

Between us and the waiting grave, 
Make all of light, of heaven, we have. 



SUPPLICATION. 

ALICE CARY. 

O thou, who all my life hast crowned 
With better things than I could ask, 

Be it to-day my humble task 

To own from depths of grief profound, 

The many sins, which darken through 
What little good I do. 



110 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

I have been too much used, I own, 
To tell my need in fretful words ; 

The clamoring of the silly birds, 
Impatient till their wings be grown, 

Have thy forgiveness, O my blessed Lord, 
The like to me accord. 



Of grace, as much as will complete 
Thy will in me, I pray thee for ; 

Even as a rose shut in a drawer 
That maketh all about it sweet, 

I would be, rather than the cedar fine ; 
Help me thou Power divine. 



With charity fill thou my heart, 

As summer fills the grass with dews, 

And as the year itself renews 

In the sun when winter days depart, 

Blessed forever, grant thou me 
To be renewed in thee. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 111 

PRAYER. 

RICHARD C. TREXCH. 

Lord, what a change within us, one short hour 

Spent in thy presence will prevail to make, 

What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, 

What parched ground refreshed as with a 

shower. 
We kneel, and all around us seems to lower ; 
We rise — and all, the distant and the near, 
Stands forth in sunny radiance brave and 
clear ; 

We kneel, how weak ; we rise, how full of 

power, 
Why therefore should we do ourselves this 

wrong 
And others, that we are not always strong ? 

That we are ever overcome by care ; 

That we should ever weak or heartless be ; 

Anxious or troubled, when with us in prayer, 
And joy, and strength, and courage are with 
Thee. 



112 Prayers from tt?c Poets. 



LABOR AND PRAYER. 

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 

O only Source of all our light and life, 
Whom as our truth, our strength, we see 
and feel, 
But whom the hours of mortal moral strife 
Alone aright reveal ! 

Mine inmost soul, before Thee inly brought, 
Thy presence owns ineffable, divine ; 

Chastised each rebel self-encentered thought, 
My will adoreth Thine. 

With eye down-dropt, if then this earthly 
mind 

Speechless remain, or speechless e'en depart 
Nor seek to see — for what of earthly kind 

Can see Thee as thou art ? — 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 113 

If well assured 'tis but profanely bold 

In thoughts abstractest forms to seem to 
see, 

It dare not dare the dread communion hold 
In ways unworthy Thee. 

O not unowned, Thou shalt unnamed forgive, 

In worldly walks the prayerless heart pre- 
pare ; 

And if in work its life it seemed to live, 

Shalt make that work be prayer. 

Nor times shall lack, when while the work 
it plies, 

Unsummoned powers the blinding film 
shall part, 

And scarce by happy tears made dim, the 
eyes 

In recognition start. 

But as Thou wiliest, give or e'en forbear 

The beatific supersensual sight, 

So with thy blessing blest, that humbler 
prayer 

Approach Thee morn and night. • 



114 Prayers from tfye poets* 

PRAYER IN EXTREMITY. 

PHEBE CARY. 

Think on him, Lord ! we ask thy aid 
In life's most dread extremity ; 

For evil days have come to him, 
Who in his youth remembered thee. 

Look on him, Lord ! for heart and flesh, 
Alike must fail without thy grace ; 

Part back the clouds, that he may see 
The brightness of his Father's face. 

Speak to him, Lord ! as thou didst talk 
To Adam, in the Garden's shade, 

And grant it unto him to hear 
Thy voice and not to be afraid. 

Support him, Lord ! that he may come, 
Leaning on thee, in faith sublime, 

Up to that awful landmark, set 
Between eternity and time. 



prayers from tfye poets. 115 

And, Lord ! if it must be that we 
Shall walk with him no more below, 

Reach out of heaven thy loving hand, 
And lead him where we cannot go. 



A CHILD'S PRAYER. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

Hear my prayer, O Heavenly Father, 
Ere I lay me down to sleep ; 

Bid thy angels, pure and holy 
Round my bed their vigils keep. 

My sins are heavy but thy mercy 
Far outweighs them every one ; 

Down before thy cross I cast them, 
Trusting in thy help alone. 

Keep me through this night of peril 
Underneath its boundless shade ; 

Take me to thy rest, I pray thee, 
When my pilgrimage is made. 



116 Prayers from tl?c Poets* 

None shall measure out thy patience 
By the span of human thought ; 

None shall bound thy tender mercies 
Which thy holy Son has bought. 

Pardon all my past transgressions, 
Give me strength for days to come ; 

Guide and guard me with thy blessing 
Till thy angels bid me home. 



HE REMEMBERETH. 

MRS. HELEN F. JACKSON. 

Dear Lord, of all the words of thine 

Which for our comfort ring and shine 

Through sacred air, on sacred page, 

From sacred lips in every age, 

No one has brought such blessed cheer 

To me, — no one is half so dear, 

No one so surely cometh home 

To every soul, as this which from 

A pure heart wrung with sorrow came, 

"For he remembereth our frame. " 



Prayers from ttje Poets. 117 

Not merely that he can forgive, 

And for his love's sake bid us live, 

When we in trespasses and sins 

Are dead, but that our weakness wins 

From him, such pity as alone 

To fathers' yearning hearts is known; 

Such pity that he even calls 

Us sons, and in our lowest falls 

Sees never utter, helpless shame, 

"For he remembereth our frame." 



Dear Lord, to thee a thousand years 
Are as a day ; with contrite tears 
One prayer I pray ; My little life, — 
Its good, its ill, its grief, its strife, — 
Oh, let it in thy holy sight, 
Like empty watches of a night, 
Forgotten be ! And of my name, 
Dear Lord, who knoweth all our frame, 
Let there remain no memory 
Save of the thing I longed to be ! 



118 Prayers from tfye poets, 

THOU ART THE LIFE AND LIGHT. 

THOMAS MOORE. 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 
Are but reflections caught from Thee, 

Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 

When Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the opening clouds of Even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 

Through the golden vistas into Heaven — 

Those hues that make the Sun's decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord, are Thine ! 

When Night, with wings of starry gloom, 

O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose 
plume 

Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes- 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. 



prayers from tfye Poets, 119 

When youthful Spring around us breathes, 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 

And every flower the Summer wreathes 
Is born beneath that kindling eye, 

Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 



LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT. 

CARDINAL NEWMAN. 

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling 
gloom, 

Lead Thou me on ; 
The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on ; 
Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene ; one step's enough for 
me. 



120 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 

Shouldest lead me on ; 
I loved to choose and see my path ; but now- 
Lead Thou me on ; 
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past 
years. 

So long Thy power hast blessed me, sure it 
still 

Will lead me on 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 

The night is gone ; 
And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost 
awhile ! 

Meanwhile, along the narrow, rugged path 

Thyself have trod, 
Lead, Savior, lead me home in childlike faith, 

Home to my God. 
To rest forever, after earthly strife, 
In the calm light of everlasting life. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 121 

THE ETERNITY OF GOD. 

FREDERICK W. FABER. 

O Lord ! my heart is sick, 

Sick of this everlasting change ; 
And life runs tediously quick 

Through its unresting race and 
varied range ; 
Change finds no likeness to itself in Thee, 
And wakes no echoes in Thy mute Eternity. 

Dear Lord ! my heart is sick 

Of this perpetual lapsing time, 
So slow in grief, in joy so quick, 
Yet ever casting shadows so sublime; 
Time of all creatures is least like to Thee, 
And yet it is our share of Thine eternity. 

O change and time are storms 

For lives so thin and frail as ours ; 
For change the work of grace de- 
forms 



12:2 Prayers from tfye Poets* 

With love that soils, and help 

that overpowers ; 
And time is strong, and, like some chafing 

sea, 
It seems to fret the shores of Thine eternity. 

Weak, weak, forever weak ! 

We cannot hold what we possess; 
Youth cannot find, age will not seek, 

O weakness is the heart's worst 
weariness; 

But weakest hearts can lift their thoughts to 
Thee ; 

It makes us strong to think of Thine eternity. 

.Thou hadst no youth great God, 

An Unbeginning End Thou art ; 
Thy glory in itself abode, 

And still abides in its own tranquil 
heart ; 
No age can keep its outward years on Thee ; 
Dear God ! Thou art thyself Thine own eter- 
nity ! 



prayers from tfye Poets. 123 

Without an end or bound 

Thy life lies all outspread in light ; 
Our lives feel Thy life all around, 
Making our weakness strong, our 
darkness bright ; 
Yet is it neither wilderness nor sea, 
But the calm gladness of a full eternity. 

Oh Thou art very great 

To set Thyself so far above ! 
But we partake of Thine estate, 

Established in Thy strength and in 
Thy love ; 
That love hath made eternal room for me 
In the sweet vastness of its own eternity. 

Oh Thou art very meek 

To overshade Thy creatures thus ! 
Thy grandeur is the shade we seek ; 
To be eternal is Thy use to us ; 
Ah Blessed God ! what joy it is to me 
To lose all thought of self in Thine eternity. 



124 prayers from tfye Poets. 

Self-wearied, Lord ! I come ; 

For I have lived my life too fast ; 
Now that years bring me nearer home, 
Grace must be slowly used to make 
it last ; 
When my heart beats too quick I think of 

Thee 
And of the leisure of Thy long eternity. 

Farewell, vain joys of earth ! 

Farewell, all love that is not His ! 
Dear God ! be Thou my only mirth, 
Thy majesty my single timid bliss ! 
Oh in the bosom of eternity 
Thou dost not weary of Thyself, nor we of 
Thee! 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 125 



O THOU WHOSE IMAGE IN THE SHRINE. 



ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 



O Thou whose image in the shrine 
Of human spirit dwells divine ! 
Which from that precinct once conveyed, 
To be to outer day displayed, 
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind 
Mere blank and void of empty mind, 
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain 
With casual shapes to fill again ! 



Thou that in our bosom's shrine 
Dost dwell, unknown because divine ! 

1 thought to speak, I thought to say, 
'The light is here/ 'behold the way, ' 
'The voice was thus,' and 'thus the word/ 
And 'thus I saw/ and 'that I heard/ — 
But from the lips that half essayed, 

The imperfect utterance fell unmade. 



126 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

Thou, in that mysterious shrine 
Enthroned, as I must say, divine ! 

1 will not frame one thought of what 
Thou mayest either be or not. 

I will not prate of 'thus' and 'so/ 
Enough that in our soul and heart 
Thou, whatsoe'er Thou may'st be, art, 

Unseen, secure in that high shrine 
Acknowledged present and divine, 
I will not ask some upper air, 
Some future day to place Thee there ; 
Nor say, "nor yet deny, such men 
And women saw Thee thus and then ; 
Thy name was such, and there or here 
To him or her Thou didst appear. 

Do only Thou in that dim shrine, 
Unknown or known, remain divine ; 
There, or if not, at least in eyes 
That scan the fact that round them lies, 



Prayers from tbc Poets. 127 

The hand to sway, the judgment guide, 
In sight and sense, Thyself divide; 
Be Thou but there, — in soul and heart, 
I will not ask to feel Thou art. 



O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE 
MOURNER'S TEAR. 

THOMAS MOORE. 

O Thou w r ho dry'st the mourner's tear! 

How dark this world would be, 
If, when deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee. 
The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes are flown ; 
And he, who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 



128 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And e'en the hope that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, 

Is dimmed and vanished too! 
Oh I who could bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not Thy wing of love 
Come brightly wafting through the gloom 

Our peace-branch from above ? 
Then sorrow touched by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We never saw by day ! 



MARTHA. 

JULIA C. DORR. 

Yea, Lord ! — Yet some must serve i 

Not all with tranquil heart 
Even at thy dear feet, 
Wrapped in devotion sweet, 
IVLay sit apart ! 



prayers from tfye poets. 129 

Yea, Lord ! — Yet some must bear 

The burden of the day, 
Its labor and its heat, 
While others at thy feet 

May muse and pray ! 

Yea, Lord ! — Yet some must do 
Life's daily task-work ; some 

Who fain would sing, must toil 

Amid earth's dust and moil, 
While lips are dumb ! 

Yea, Lord ! — Yet man must earn, 
And woman bake the bread ; 

And some must watch and wake 

Early for others' sake, 
Who pray instead ! 

Yea, Lord ! — Yet even Thou 

Hast need of earthly care. 
I bring the bread and wine 
To Thee, a guest divine— 

Be this my prayer! 



130 prayers from tfye poets- 

THE GOD OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

FREDERICK W. FABER. 

O God! who wert my childhood's love, 
My boyhood's pure delight, 

A presence felt the livelong day, 
A welcome fear at night, — 

Oh let me speak to Thee, dear God ! 

Of those old mercies past, 
O'er which new mercies day by day 

Such lengthening shadows cast. 

They bade me call Thee, Father, Lord ! 

Sweet was the freedom deemed, 
And yet more like a mother's ways 

Thy quiet mercies seemed. 

At school Thou wert a kindly Face 

Which I could almost see ; 
But home and holy day appeared 

Somehow more full of thee. 



prayers from tfye Poets* 131 



I could not sleep unless Thy Hand 
Were underneath my head, 

That I might kiss it, if I lay 
Wakeful upon my bed. 

And quite alone I never felt, — 
I know that Thou wert near, 

A silence tingling in the room, 
A strangely pleasant fear. 

And to home-Sundays long since past 
How fondly memory clings ; 

For then my mother told of Thee 
Such sweet, such wondrous things. 

I know not what I thought of Thee 

What picture I had made 
Of that eternal Majesty 

To whom my childhood prayed. 

I know I used to lie awake, 

And tremble at the shape 
Of my own thoughts, yet did not wish 

Thy terrors to escape. 



132 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

I had no secrets as a child, 

Yet never spoke of Thee ; 
The nights we spent together, Lord 

Were only known to me. 

I lived two lives which seemed distinct, 
Yet which did not intertwine ; 

One was my mother's — it is gone — 
The other, Lord ! was Thine. 

I never wandered from Thee, Lord ! 

But sinned before Thy Face ; 
Yet now, on looking back, my sins 

Seem all beset with grace. 

With age Thou grewest more divine, 

More glorious than before ; 
I feared Thee with a deeper fear, 

Because I loved Thee more. 

Thou broadenest out with every year, 
Each breadth of life to meet; 

I scarce can think Thou art the same, 
Thou art so much more sweet. 



Prayers from tlje Poets. 133 

Changed and not changed, Thy present 
charms 

Thy past ones only prove ; 
Oh make my heart more strong to bear 

This newness of Thy love ! 

These novelties of love ! when will 

Thy goodness find an end? 
Whither will Thy compassions, Lord, 

Incredibly extend ! 

Father, what hast Thou grown to now ? 

A joy all joys above, 
Something more sacred than a fear, 

More tender than love ! 

With gentle swiftness lead me on, 
Dear God ! to see Thy Face ; 

And meanwhile in my narrow heart 
Oh make thyself more space ! 



134 prayers from tlje Poets. 



PRAYER. 

FREDERIDK W. FABER. 

O God ! that I could be with thee, 

Alone by some sea shore, 
And hear Thy soundless voice within, 

And the outward waters roar. 

The cold wet wind would seem to wash, 
The world from all my brow ; 

And I should feel amidst the storm 
That none were near but Thou. 

Each wave that broke upon the rocks 
Would seem to break on me ; 

And he who stands an outward shock 
Gains inward liberty. 

Upon the wings of wild sea-birds, 
My dark thoughts would I lay, 

And let them bear them out to sea, 
In the tempest far away. 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 13^ 

For life has grown a simple weight ; 

Each effort seems a fall ; 
And all things weary me on earth, 

But good things most of all. 

And I am deadly sick of men, 
From shame and not from pride ; 

My love of souls, my joy in saints, 
Are blossoms that have died. 

It seems as if I loathed the earth. 

And yet craved not for heaven, 
But for another nature longed, 

Not that which Thou has given. 

For goodness all ignoble seems, 

Ungenerous and small, 
And the holy are so wearisome 

Their very virtues pall. 

Alas ! this penvishness with good 

Is want of love of God ; 
Unloving thoughts within distort 

The look of things abroad. 



J 36 Prayers from t£?e Poets, 

The discord is within, which jars 

So sadly in life's song ; 
'Tis we, not they who are in fault. 

When others seem so wrong. 

4 Tis we, who weigh upon ourselves; 

Self is the irksome weight ; 
To those, who can see straight themselves, 

All things look always straight. 

My God ! with what surpassing love 

Thou lovest all an on earth, 
How good the least good is to Thee, 

How much each soul is worth ! 

I seem to think if I could spend 

One hour alone with Thee, 
My human heart would come again 

From Thy divinity. 

And yet I cannot build a cell 

For Thee within my heart, 
And meet Thee, as Thy chosen do, 

Where Thou most truly art. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 137 

The bright examples round me, seem 

My dazzled eyes to hurt ; 
Thy beauty, which they should reflect, 

They dwindle and invert. 

Therefore I crave for scenes which might 

My fettered thoughts unbind, 
And where the elements might be 

Like scapegoats to my mind. 

Where all things round should loudly tell, 
Storm, rocks, sea birds and sea, 

Not of Thy w r orship, but much more, 
And only, Lord ! of Thee. 



A PRAYER IN PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

ROBERT BURNS. 

O thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 



188 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

If I have wandered in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed me, 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And listening to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stepped aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have erred, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 139 

A LAST PRAYER. 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON. 

Father, I scarcely dare to pray, 

So clear I see, now it is done, 
That I have wasted half my day, 

And left my work but just begun ; 

So clear I see that things I thought 
Were right or harmless were a sin ; 

So clear I see that I have sought 
Unconscious, selfish aims to win ; 

So clear I see that I have hurt 

The soul I might have helped to save; 

That I have slothful been, inert, 
Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave. 

In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast, 
Father, the humblest spot give me; 

Set me the lowliest task thou hast : 
Let me repentant work for thee ! 



140 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

PRAYER NEAR A SPRING. 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

Troubled long with warring notions 
Long impatient of thy rod, 

I resign my soul's emotions 
Unto thee, mysterious God ! 

What avails the kindly shelter 
Yielded by this craggy rent, 

If my spirit toss and w r elter 
On the waves of discontent ? 

Parching Summer hath no warrant 
To consume this crystal well ; 

Rains, that make each rill a torrent 
Neither sully it nor swell. 

Thus, dishonouring not her station. 

Would my life present to Thee, 
Gracious God, the pure oblation 

Of divine tranquility ! 



prayers from tfye Poets. 141. 

PRAYER OF BOATMEN AS THEY 
APPROACH THE RAPIDS. 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

Jesus, bless our slender boat, 

By the current swept along ; 
Loud its threatenings — let them not 

Drown the music of a song 
Breathed thy mercy to implore, 
Where these troubled waters roar ! 

Savior, for our warning, seen 

Bleeding on that precious Rood ; 

If, while through the meadows green 
Gently wound the peaceful flood, 

We forgot thee, do not thou 

Disregard thy Suppliants now! 

Hither, like yon ancient tower 

Watching o'er the river's bed, 
Fling the shadow r of thy power, 

Else we sleep among the dead ; 
Thou who trod'st the billowy sea, 
Shield us in our jeopardy ! 



142 Prayers from tfye poets. 

Guide our bark among the waves ; 

Through the rocks our passage smooth ; 
Where the whirlpool frets and raves 

Let thy love its anger soothe ; 
All our hope is placed in Thee ; 
Miserere Domine ! 



FATHER ! TAKE MY HAND. 

The way is dark, my Father! Cloud on 

cloud 
Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and 

loud 
The thunders roar above me. See I stand 
Like one bewildered ! Father, take my 
hand 

And through the gloom 
Lead safely home 
Thy child ! 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 143 

The day goes fast, my Father ! and the night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless 

sight 
Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral band, 
Encompass me. O Father ! take my hand, 

And from the night 

Lead up to light 

Thy child ! 

The way is long, my Father ! and my soul 
Longs of the rest and quiet of the goal ; 
While yet I journey through this weary 

land, 
Keep me from wandering, Father ! take my 
hand ; 

Quickly and straight 
Lead to heaven's gate 
Thy child ! 

The path is rough, my Father! Many a thorn 
Has pierced me ; and my weary feet, all torn, 
And bleading, ark the way. Yet thy com- 
mand 



144 prayers from tfye poets. 

Bids me press forward. Father, take my 
hand ; 

Then, safe and blest, 
Lead up to rest 
Thy child ! 

The throng is great, my Father ! Many a 

doubt 
And fear and danger encompass me about ; 
And foes oppress me sore ; I cannot stand 
Or go alone. O Father! take my hand, 

And through the throng 

Lead safe along 

Thv child! 



PRAYER FROM U A FOREST HYMN." 

W. C. BRYANT. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst 

look down 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 145 

Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy 

sun, 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy 

breeze, 
And shot toward heaven. The century-liv- 
ing crow 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and 

died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they 

stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim 

vaults, 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or 

pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the 

form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here — 

thou fill'st 



146 Prayers from tfye poets. 

The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 

That run along the summit of these tree 

In music • thou art in the cooler breath 

That from the inmost darkness of the place 

Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, 
the ground, 

The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with 
thee. 

Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here, 

In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 

Enjoys thy presence. Noislessly, around, 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst 
its herbs, 

Wells softly forth and wandering steeps 
the roots 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in the shades, 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength and 

grace 
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty 

oak — 



Prayers front tfye Poets. 147 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost annihilated — not a prince, 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 

Wears the green coronal of leaves with 

which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest 
flower, 

With scented breath and look so like a smile, 

Seems, as it issues from the shapeless 
mould 

An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visible token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this great universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 

Of the great miracle that still goes on, 

In silence, round me — the perpetual work 

Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 

Forever. Written on thy works I read 

The lesson of thy own eternity. 



148 Prayers from tfye poets. 

Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not 

lost 
One of earth's charms; upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came 

forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no 

end. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 149 



PRAYER FROM "A HYMN OF THE CITY." 

W. C. BRYAXT. 

Even here do I behold 
Thy steps, Almighty ! — here amidst the 
crowd 
Through the great city rolled, 
With everlasting murmur deep and loud — 

Choking the ways that wind 
Mongst the proud piles, the work of human 
kind. 

Thy golden sunshine comes 
From the round of heaven, and on their 
dwellings lies 
And lights their inner homes ; 
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded 
skies, 
And givest them the stores 
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 



150 Prayers from tfye Poets* 



Thy Spirit is around 
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps 
along ; 
And this eternal sound — 
Voices and footfalls of the numberless 
throng — 

Like the resounding sea, 
Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. 

And when the hour of rest 
Comes like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, 

Hushing its billowy breast — 
The quiet of that moment too is thine ; 

It breathes of Him who keeps 
The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. 



PRAYER OF THE WALDENSES. 

W. C. BRYANT. 

Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock 
Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock ; 
While those, who seek to slay thy children, 
hold 



prayers from tfye Poets. 151 



Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ; 
And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant 

airs 
That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are 

theirs. 

Yet better were this mountain wilderness, 
And this wild life of danger and distress, — 
Watchings by night and perilous flight by 

day, 
And meetings in the depths of earth to 

pray- 
Better, far better, than to kneel with them, 
And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. 

Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder ; the firm 

land 
Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand ; 
Thou dashest nation against nation, then 
Stillest the angry world to peace again. 
Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy 

sons — 
The murderers of our wives and little ones. 



152 Prayers from tfye poets. 

Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look 
forth 

Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. 

Then the foul power of priestly sin and all 

Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall. 

Thou shalt raise up the trampled and op- 
pressed, 

And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest. 



LABORARE EST ORARE. 

SUSAN COOLIDGE. 

How infinite and sweet, Thou every where 
And all abounding Love, Thy service is ; 

Thou liest an ocean round my world of care, 
My petty every day ; and fresh and fair, 
Pour Thy strong tides through all my 

crevices, 
Until the silence ripples into prayer. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 153 

That Thy full glory may abound, increase, 
And so thy likeness shall be formed in me, 

I pray; the answer is not rest or peace, 

But charges, duties, wants, anxieties, 

Till there seems room for everything but 
Thee, 

And never time for anything but these. 

And I should fear, but lo ! amid the press 

The whirl and hum and pressure of my day, 
I hear Thy garments sweep, Thy seamless 
dress, 

And close beside my work and weariness 

Discern Thy gracious form, not far away, 
But very near, O Lord, to help and bless. 

The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see 

Only the glancing needle which they hold, 

But all my life is blossoming inwardly, 

And every breath is like a litany, 

While through each labor, like a thread of 
gold, 

Is woven the sw r eet consciousness of Thee, 






154 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

WHATSOEVER. 

MARGARET J. PRESTON. 

One day, in stress of need, I prayed, 

" Dear Father, thou hast bid me bring 
All wants to thee, so unafraid, 

I ask thee for this little thing, 

Round which my hopes so keenly cling. 
And yet, remembering what thou art, 

So dread, so wondrous, so divine, 
I marvel that I have the heart 

To tell thee of this wish of mine ! 

" Thy heavens are strewn with worlds on 
worlds, 

Thy star dust powders reachless space ; 
System on system round thee whirls, 

Who sittest in the central place 

Of being; while before thy face 
The universe hangs like a bead 

Of *dew, upon whose arc is shown, 
With but reflected flash indeed, 

Godhood's magnificence alone ! 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 155 

' And when I think our world's but one 
Small w r orld amid the countless band; 

That in its daily course doth run 
Its golden circuit through thy hand, 
And that its peopled myriads stand 

Always before thee, even as I, 

Sad suppliants in their misery dumb, 

Waiting for every hour's supply, — 
I wonder that I dare to come ! 



" I could not come but for thy word, 
That says I may in reverent fear, 

Approach, and through thy grace be 
heard ; 
Therefore, to-day , I venture near 
And bring the suit to me so dear; 

Remembering what thy Christ hath said, 
And reading it with faith aright , 

That every hair upon my head 

Bears its own number in his sight, 



J5G prayers from tfye Poets, 

" The thing I ask thee for, how small, 

How trivial must it seem to thee ! 
Yet Lord, thou knowest who knowest 
all, 

It is no little thing to me, 

So weak, so human as I be ! 
Therefore I make my prayer to-day, 

And as a father pitieth, then, 
Grant me this little thing, I pray, 

Through the one sacred name. Amen ! " 



I had my wish ; the little thing, 
So needful to my heart's content, 

Was given to my petitioning, 
And comforted, I onward went 
With tranquil soul, wherein were blent 

Trust and thanksgiving ; for I know 
Now, as I had not known before, 

The whatsoever s meaning ; so 
I cavil not nor question more ! 



Prayers from tfjc Poets. 157 

THE PRAYER OF NATURE. 

LORD BYRON. 

Father of Light ! great God of Heaven ! 

Hear'st thou the accents of despair? 
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven ? 

Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? 

Father of Light, on thee I call ! 

Thou seest my soul is dark within ; 
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall, 

Avert from me the death of sin. 

No shrine I seek, to sects unknown ; 

Oh, point to me the path of truth ! 
Thy dread omnipotence I own ; 

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth. 

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, 

Let superstition hail the pile 
Let priests, to spread their sable reign, 

With tales of mystic rites beguile. 



158 Prayers front tfye Poets* 

Shall man confine his Maker's sway 

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone ? 

Thy temple is the face of day ; 

Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne. 

Shall man condemn his race to hell, 
Unless they bend in pompous form ? 

Tell us that all, for one who fell, 
Must perish in the mingling storm ? 

Shall each pretend to reach the skies, 
Yet doom his brother to expire, 

Whose soul a different hope supplies, 
Or doctrines less severe inspire ? 

Shall these, by creeds they can't expound, 

Prepare a fancied bliss or woe ? 
Shall reptiles, groveling on the ground, 

Their great Creator's purpose know ? 

Shall those who live for self alone, 

Whose years float on in daily crime — 

Shall they by faith for guilt atone, 
And live beyond the bounds of time ? 



prayers from tfye Poets* 159 

Father! no prophet's laws I seek — 
Thy laws in Nature's works appear ; 

I own myself corrupt and w r eak, 
Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear ! 

Thou who canst guide the wandering star 
Through trackless realms of ether's space ; 

Who calms the elemental war, 

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace ; 

Thou who in wisdom placed me here, 

Who, when thou w T ilt, canst take me hence, 

Ah ! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, 
Extend to me thy wade defence. 

To Thee, my God, to thee I call ! 

Whatever weal or woe betide, 
By thy command I rise or fall, 

In thy protection I confide. 

If, when this dust to dust's restored, 
My soul shall float on airy wing, 

How shall thy glorious name adored 
Inspire her feeble voice to sing ! 



160 Prayers from tfye poets. 

But, if this fleeting spirit share 
With clay the grave's eternal bed, 

While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, 
Though doomed no more to quit the dead. 

To Thee I breathe my humble strain, 
Grateful for all thy mercies past, 

And hope, my God, to thee again 
This erring life may fly at last. 



THE SACRIFICE OF THE WILL. 

Laid on Thine altar, O my Lord divine, 

Accept my gift this day, for Jesus sake. 
I have no jewels to adorn Thy shrine, 

Nor any world-famed sacrifice to make ; 
But here I bring, within my trembling hand, 

This will of mine— a thing that seemeth 
small, 
And Thou alone, O Lord, canst understand 

How, when I yield Thee this, I yield mine 
all 
Hidden therein, Thy searching gaze can see 



Prayers from tfyc Poets. 161 

Struggles of passion — visions of delight — 
All that I have, or am, or fain would be, — 
Deep loves, fond hopes and longings in- 
finite ; 
It hath been wet with tears, and dimmed 
with sighs, 
Clenched in my grasp till beauty hath it 
none ; 
Now, from thy footstool where it vanquished 
lies, 
The prayer ascendeth, " May Thy Will be 
Done." 
Take it, O Father, ere my courage fail, 
And merge it so in Thine own will, that 
e'en 
If in some desperate hour my cries prevail, 
And Thou give me my gift, it may have 
been 
So changed, so purified, so fair have grown, 
So one with Thee, so filled with peace divine 
I may not know or feel it as mine own — 
But gaining back my will, may find it Thine. 



162 Prayers from tfye Poets* 

PRAYER OF THANKSGIVING, 

ROBERT HERRTCK. 

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, 

Wherein to dwell ; 
A little house, whose humble roof 

Is weather proof ; 
Under the spars of which I lie 

Both soft and dry ; 
Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 

Hast set a guard 
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 

Me, while I sleep. 
Low is my porch, as is my fate ; 

Both void of state ; 
And yet the threshold of my door 

Is worn by th* poor, 
Who thither come and freely get 

Good words or meat. 
Like as my parlor, so my hall 

And kitchen's small ; 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 163 

A little buttery, and therein 

A little bin, 
Which keeps my little loaf of bread 

Unchipt, unflead ; 
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 

Make me a fire, 
Close by whose living coal I sit, 

And glow like it. 
Lord, I confess too, when I dine 

The pulse is thine, 
And all those other bits that be 

There placed by thee ; 
The worts, the purslane, and the mess 

Of water-cress, 
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent ; 

And my content 
Makes those, and my beloved beet, 

To be more sweet. 
' Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 

With guiltless mirth, 
And giv'st me wassail bowl to drink, 



164 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

Spiced to the brink. 
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soils my land, 
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, 

Twice ten for one ; 
Thou makest my teeming hen to lay 

Her egg each day ; 
Besides, my healthful ewes to bear 

Me twins each year ; 
All these, and better, thou dost send 

Me to this end, — 
That I should render, for my part, 

A thankful heart ; 
Which, fired with incense, I resign, 

As wholy thine ; — 
But the acceptance, that must be, 

My Christ, by Thee. 



Prayers from tfye Poets- 165 

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. 

JOHN KEBLE. 

When the poor and needy seek water, and there is 
none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I, the Lord will 
hear them, I, the God of Israel will not forsake them. 
Is. 41: 17. 

And wilt Thou hear the fever'd heart 

To Thee in silence cry ? 
And as the inconstant wild fires dart 

Out of the restless eye, 
Wilt Thou forgive the wayward thought 
By kindly woes yet half untaught 
A Savior's right, so dearly bought, 

That hope should never die ? 

Thou wilt ; for many a languid prayer 

Hast reached Thee from the wild, 
Since the lorn mother, wandering there, 

Cast down her fainting child, 
Then stole apart to weep and die, 
Nor knew an angel form was nigh 
To show soft waters gushing by 
And dewy shadows mild. 



1GG prayers from tfye Poets, 

Thou wilt ; for Thou art Israel's God, 

And Thine unwearied arm 
Is ready yet with Moses' rod, 

The hidden rill to charm 
Out of the dry unfathomed deep 
Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, 
Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap 

Their waves in rude alarm. 

Those moments of wild wrath are Thine — 

Thine too the drearier hour 
When o'er the horizon's silent line 

Fond hopeless fancies cower, 
And on the traveler's listless way 
Rises and sets th' unchanging day, 
No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, 

On earth no sheltering bower. 

Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, 

To turn the bitter pool 
Into a bright and breezy lake, 

The throbbing brow to cool ; 



Prayers from tfyc Poets. 167 

Till left awhile with Thee alone, 
The wilful heart be fain to own 
That He, by whom our bright hours shone 
Our darkness best may rule. 

The scent of waters far away 

Upon the breeze is flung; 
The desert pelican to-day 

Securely leaves her young, 
Reproving thankless man, who fears 
To journey on a few lone years, 
Where on the sand Thy step appears, 

Thy crown in sight is hung. 

Thou w r ho didst sit on Jacob's well 

The weary hour of noon, 
The languid pulses Thou canst tell 

The nerveless spirit tune. 
Thou from whose cross in anguish burst 
The cry that owned Thy dying thirst, 
To Thee we turn, our Last and First, 

Our Sun and soothing Moon. 



168 prayers from tbe Poets. 

From darkness, here, and dreariness 

We ask not full repose, 
Only be Thou at hand to bless 

Our trial hour of woes. 
Is not the pilgrim's toil o'er-paid 
By the clear rill and balmy shade? 
And see we not, up earth's dark glade 

The gate of heaven unclose? 



PRAYER. 



ARTHUR C. COXE. 



O wondrous Lord ! my soul would be 
Still more and more conformed to Thee 
Would lose the pride, the taint of sin, 
That burns these fevered veins within, 
And learn of Thee, the Lowly One 
And like Thee, all my journey run 
Above the world and all its mirth, 
Yet weeping still with weeping earth. 



prayers from tfye poets, 169 

PRAYER AT A WEDDING. 

SIDNEY LANIER. 

Thou God, whose high eternal Love 
Is the only blue sky of our life, 

Clear all the Heaven that bends above 
The life-road of this man and wife. 

May these two lives be but one note 

In the world's strange-sounding harmony, 

Whose sacred music e'er shall float 
Through every discord up to Thee. 

As when from separate stars two beams 

Unite to form one tender ray ; 
As when two sweet but shadowy dreams 

Explain each other in the day ; 

So may these two dear hearts one light 

Emit, and each interpret each. 
Let an angel come and dwell to-night 

In this dear double-heart and teach ! 



170 prayers from tfye Poets, 

A POST'S PRAYER. 

EBENEZER ELLIOTT. 

Almighty Father ! let thy lowly child, 

Strong in his love of truth, be wisely bold, — 
A patriot bard by sycophants reviled, 

Let him live usefully, and not die old ! 
Let poor men's children, pleased to read his 
lays, 
Love for his sake the scenes where he hath 
been, 
And when he ends his pilgrimage of days, 
Let him be buried where the grass is 
green, 
Where daisies, blooming earliest, linger late 

To hear the bee his busy note prolong ; 
There let him slumber and in peace await 
The dawning morn, far from the sensual 
throng, 
Who scorn the wind-flower's blush, the red- 
breast's lovely song. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 171 

PRAYER TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

JOHN DRYDEN. 

Creator Spirit, by whose aid 
The world's foundations first were laid, 
Come, visit every pious mind ; 
Come, pour thy joys on human kind ; 
From sin and sorrow set us free, 
And make thy temples worthy thee. 

O source of uncreated light, 
The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ; 
Come, and thy sacred unction bring, 
To sanctify us while we sing. 

Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 

Rich in thy seven fold energy ! 

Thou strength of His Almighty hand, 

Whose power does heaven and earth com- 
mand ; 

Proceeding Spirit, our defence, 

Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, 

And crown'st thy gifts with eloquence ! 



172 prayers from tfye poets. 

Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
But Oh, inflame and fire our hearts! 
Our frailties help, our vice control, 
Submit the senses to the soul; 
And when rebellious they are grown, 
Then lay thine hand and hold them down. 

Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow , 
And, lest our feet should step astray, 
Protect and guide us in the way. 

Make us eternal truths receive, 
And practice all that we believe ; 
Give us thyself that we may see 
The Father, and the Son, by Thee. 

Immortal honor, endless fame, 
Attend the Almighty Father's name ! 
The Saviour Son be glorified, 
Who for lost man's redemption died ! 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee! 



Prayers from tfje Poets. 173 

PER PACEM ADLUCEM. 

ADELAIDE PRO CTER. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be 

A pleasent road ; 
I do not ask that thou woudst take from me 

Aught of its load ; 

I do not ask that flowers should always spring 

Beneath my feet ; 
I know too well the poison and the sting 

Of things too sweet. 

For one thing only Lord, dear Lord, I plead, 
Lead me aright — 

Though strength should falter and though 
heart should bleed — 
Through Peace to Light. 

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst 
shed 

Full radiance here ; 
Give but a ray of peace that I may tread 

Without a fear. 



174 Prayers from tfye Poets. 



I do not ask my cross to understand 

My way to see ; 
Better in darkness just to feel thy hand 

And follow thee. 

Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine 

Like quiet night ; 
Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine, 

Through Peace to Light, 



PRAYER OF RESIGNATION. 

THOMAS CHATTERTON. 

O God, whose thunder shakes the sky, 
Whose eye atom globe surveys, 

To thee, my only rock, I fly, 
Thy mercy in thy justice praise. 

The mystic mazes of thy will, 
The shadows of celestial light, 

Are past the powers of human skill ; 
But what the Eternal acts, is right. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 175 

O teach me in the trying hour, 

When anguish swells the dewy tear. 

To still my sorrows, own thy power, 
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear. 

If in this bosom aught but thee, 

Encroaching sought a boundless sway, 

Omniscience could the danger see, 
And mercy look the cause away. 

Then, why, my soul, dost thou complain ? 

Why drooping seek the dark recess ? 
Shake off the melancholy chain, 

For God created all to bless. 

But, ah ! my breast is human still ; 

The rising sigh, the falling tear, 
My languid vitals* feeble rill, 

The sickness of my soul declare. 

But yet, with fortitude resigned, 
Fll thank the infliction of the blow, 

Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, 
Nor let the gush of misery flow. 



170 prayers from tfyc poets. 

The gloomy mantle of the night, 
Which on my sinking spirit steals, 

Will vanish at the morning light, 

Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals. 



SUNDAY. 

EDMUND SPENSER. 



Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day 
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin. 
And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away 
Captivity thence captive, us to win ; 
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, 
And grant that we, for whom thou didest die, 
Being with thy dear blood clean washed 

from sin, 
May live forever in felicity ; 
And that thy love we weighing worthily, 
May likewise love thee for the same again ; 
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst 

buy, 
With love may one another entertain. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 177 

COMMUNION. 

SUSAX COOLIDGE. 

What is it to commune? 
It is when soul meets soul and they embrace 
As souls may, stooping from each separate 
sphere 

For a brief moment's space. 

What is it to commune ? 
It is to lay the veil of custom by, 
To be all unafraid of truth, to talk 

Face to face, eye to eye. 

Not face to face, dear Lord ; 
That is the joy of brighter worlds to be ; 
And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board, 

We do commune with Thee. 

Behind the white-robed priest, 
Our eyes, anointed with a sudden grace, 
Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest, 

A dim beloved Face. 



178 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

And is it Thou, indeed ? 
And dost Thou lay Thy glory all away 
To visit us, and with Thy grace be feed 

Our hungering hearts to-day? 

And can a thing so sweet, 
And can such heavenly condescension be ? 
Ah ! wherefore tarry thus our lingering feet ; 

It can be none but Thee. 



There is the gracious ear 
That never yet was deaf to sinner's call ; 
We will not linger, and we dare not fear, 

But kneel, — and tell Thee all. 

We tell Thee of our sin 
Only half loathed, only half wished away, 
And those clear eyes of Love that look 
within, 

Rebuke us, seem to say, — 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 179 

" O, bought with my own blood, 
Mine own, for whom my precious life I gave, 
Am I so little prized, remembered, loved, 

By those I died to save?" 

And under that deep gaze 
Sorrow awakes ; we kneel with eyelids wet, 
And marvel, as with Peter at the gate, 

That we could so forget. 



We tell Thee of our care, 
Of the sore burden, pressing day by day, 
And in the light and pity of Thy face, 

The burden melts away. 

We breathe our secret wish, 
The imporunate longing which no man may 

see ; 
We ask it humbly, or, more restful still, 

We leave it all to Thee, 



180 Prayers from tfye Poets, 

And last our amulet 

Of precious names we thread, and soft and 

low 
We crave for each beloved, or near or far, 

A blessing ere we go. 

The thorns are turned to flowers, 
All dark perplexities seem light and fair, 
A mist is lifted from the heavy hours, 

And Thou art every where. 



AT KANDERSTEG. 

GEORGE BANCROFT. 

Father in heaven ! while friendless and alone 
I gaze on nature's face in alpine wild, 

I would approach thee nearer. Wilt thou own 
The solitary pilgrim for thy child ? 

When on the hill's majestic height I trod 
And thy creation smiling round me lay, 

The soul reclaimed its likeness unto God, 
And spurned its union with the baser clay. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 181 

The stream of thought flowed purely, like 
the air 
That from untrodden snows passed coolly 
by; 
Base passion died within me ; low-born care 
Fled, and sreflection raised my soul on 
high. 

Then wast thou with me and didst sweetly 
pour 
Serene delight into my wounded breast ; 
The mantle of thy love hung gently o'er 
The lonely wanderer, and my heart had 
rest. 

I gazed on thy creation. Oh, 'tis fair ! 
The vales are clothed in beauty, and the 
hills 
In their deep bosom, icy oceans bear, 

To feed the mighty floods and bubbling 
rills. 



182 prayers front tfye Poets. 

I marvel not at Nature ! she is thine ; 

Thy cherished daughter, whom thou lov'st 
to bless ; 
Through thee her hills in glistening white- 
ness shine ; 
Through thee her valleys laugh in loveli- 
ness. 

'Tis thou when o'er my path beams cheerful 
day, 
That smiling guid'st me through the 
stranger's land ; 

And when mild winds around my temples 
play, 
On my hot brow I feel thy lenient hand. 

And shall I fear thee? — wherefore fear thy 

wrath, 
When life and hope and youth from thee 

descend ? 
Oh, be my guide in life's uncertain path, 
The pilgrim's guardian, counsellor and 

friend ! 



Prayers front tfye Poets. 183 

THE DIVINE LIKENESS. 

GERALD MASSEY. 

Spirit Divine, we yearn and strive 
Within our souls to keep alive 

Some likeness of Thy love ! 
But 'tis at best a glimpse, a gleam, 
Uncertain as a troubled stream 

Reflects the heavens above. 

The more we strive, the more we seem 
To mar the vision ; break the beam 

Of glory that we chase. 
A breath disturbs Thy still design ; 
We try to mirror the Divine, 

And blur what we embrace. 

Spirit Divine, brood down and fill 
Us with Thy calm and make us still ; 

All sighing cares to cease. 
•Our restless longings cannot hold 
The face of heaven unless its fold 

Us round and whisper, "Peace." 



184 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

WEARINESS. 

MARY K. STONE. 

Lord, I am oppressed ; undertake for me. Is. 38., 14. 

Lord, with a very tired mind 

I seek thy face ; 
Thy shadowing wing alone can be 

My resting-place. 
Oh, let the everlasting arms, 

Around me thrown 
My secret sanctuary be 

From ills unknown. 

Thou knowest, Lord, the hidden cross 

None else may see ; 
For thou appointest every grief 

That chastens me ! 
And I may plead with thee, my God, 

For patient strength, 
That this thy discipline of love 

Bear fruit at length. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 185 

I need not fear to tell thee all, 

My heavenly Friend, — 
Of conflict, longing, vague unrest, — 

Thou settest the"end; 
And thou wilt lead my weary feet 

From world-worn ways, 
Through paths of everlasting peace, 

To calmer days. 

Lord ! dwell within my heart, and fill 

Its emptiness ; 
Set thou its hope above the reach 

Of earthliness ; 
Baptize its love through suffering, 

Into thine own, 
And work in me a faith that rests 

On Christ alone. 



18G prayers from tfje Poets* 

AT EVENTIDE. 

GERALD MASSEY. 

Father in heaven, we seek Thy face 
When darkness is our dwelling-place. 
Our foolish hearts, that daily roam, 
Would nightly nestle with Thee at home, 
Be with us here, and grant that we 
Hereafter, Lord, may be with Thee ! 

Father ! our inmost parts lie bare 
To Thine own purifying air ; 
We spread our stains out in Thy sight ; 
O, Sun of Pureness, turn them white ; 
And make our spirits clear as dew 
For Thine own Self to lighten through. 

Send down the Comforter, we plead, 
For all who are in bitter need ; 
May homeless Hagars find, we pray, 
Some well of succor by the way — 
The Angel of Thy Presence bless 
All wanderers in the wilderness. 



Prayers from tfye Poets* 187 

God keep our darlings safe this night, 

Though scattered, one still in Thy sight ! 

Lead on, by many ways, and past 

All perils, till we join at last ; 

With us the broken links ! with Thee 

The circle perfect endlessly. 

Now take us, Father, to Thy breast, 
And still our troubled thoughts to rest ; 
Thy watch and ward about us keep, 
That tired souls may smile asleep, 
And having been with heaven awhile, 
May wake to-morrow in Thy smile ! 



FROM "A FLORIDA SUNDAY." 

SIDNEY LANIER. 

And, lastly, Thee, 

God, whom my roads all reach, howe'er they 

run, 

My Father, Friend, Beloved, dear All-One, 

Thee in my soul, my soul in Thee, I feel, 

Self of my self. Lo, through my sense doth 
steal, 



188 prayers from tl?e poets* 

Clear cognizance of all selves and qualities, 

Of all existence that hath been or is, 

Of all strange haps that men miscall of 

chance, 
And all the works of tireless circumstance ; 
Each borders each, like mutual sea and shore, 
Nor aught misfits his neighbor that's before, 
Nor him that's after — nay, through this still 

air, 
Out of the North came quarrels, and keen 

blare 
Of challenge by the hot-breath'd parties 

blown ; 
Yet break they not this peace with alien tone, 
Fray not my heart, nor fright me for my 

land, 
I hear from all-wards, allwise understand, 
The great bird Purpose bears me twixt her 

wings, 
And I am one with all the kinsmen things, 
What e'er my Father fathered. Oh, to me 
All questions solve in this tranquillity ; 



prayers from tfye poets. 189 

E'en this dark matter, once so dim, so drear, 
Now shines upon my spirit, heavenly-clear; 
Thou, Father, without logic, tellest me 
How this divine denial true may be, 
How All's in each, yet every one of all 
Maintains his Self complete and several. 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. 

JOHN KEBLE. 

Nevertheless, I tell you the truth ; it is expedient for 
you that I go away ; for if I go not away, the Comforter 
will not come unto you ; but if I depart, I will send 
Him unto you. John 16: 7. 

My Savior, can it ever be 

That I should gain by losing Thee? 

The watchful mother tarries nigh 

Though sleep have closed her infant's eye, 

For should he wake and find her gone, 

She knows she could not bear his moan. 

But I am weaker than a child, 

And Thou art more than mother dear; 
Without Thee heaven were but a wild ; 

How can I live without Thee here ? 



100 Prayers from tfye Poets, 



u 'Tis good for you that I should go, 

You lingering yet awhile below" 

'Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord ! 
Thy saints have proved the faithful word, 
When heaven's bright boundless avenue 
Far opened on their eager view, 
And homeward to Thy Father's throne, 

Still lessening, brightening on their sight 
Thy shadowy car went soaring on, 

They tracked Thee up th' abyss oi light. 



Thou bidd'st rejoice ; they dare not mourn, 
But to their home in gladness turn, 
Their home and God's, that favored place 
Where still he shines on Abraham's race, 
In prayers and blessings there to wait 
Like suppliants at their monarch's gate 
Who, bent with bounty rare to aid 

The splendor of His crowning day, 
Keeps back awhile His largess, made 

More welcome for that brief delay. 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 191 

THE HIGHER GOOD. 

THEODORE PARKER. 

Father, I will not ask for wealth or fame, 
Though once they would have joyed my 

carnal sense ; 
I shudder not to bear a hated name, 
Wanting all wealth, myself my sole defence, 
But give me, Lord, eyes to behold the 

truth, 
A seeing sense that knows the eternal right 
A heart with pity filled and gentlest ruth 
A manly faith that makes all darkness light 
Give me the power to labor for mankind ; 
Make me the mouth of such as cannot 

speak ; 
Eyes let me be to groping men, and blind ; 
A conscience to the base ; and to the weak 
Let me be hands and feet ; and to the fool- 
ish, mind ; 
And lead still further on such as thy king- 
dom seek. 



192 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

PRAYER FROM A POET'S LOVE-LETTER. 

GERALD MASSEY. 

Something, dear Lord, Thou hast for me to 

say, 
Or wherefore draw me towards the springs of 

day, 
And make my face with happiness to shine 
By softly placing this dear hand in mine 
Even while I stretched it to Thee through 

the dark ; 
A something that shall shine aloft and mark 
Thy goodness and my gratitude upon 
This Mount Transfiguration when I'm gone ! 
If Thou hast set my foot on firmer ground, 
Lord, let me show what helper I have 

found ; 
If Thou hast touched me with thy loftier 

light, 
Lord, let me turn to those that walk in 

night 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 193 

And climb with more at heart than they can 

bear, 
Though but a twinkle through their cloud 

of care. 
Only a grain of sand my life may be, 
But let it sparkle, Lord, with light of Thee ! 
I ask not that my verse should break in 

bloom 
With flowers, to crown my love or wreathe 

my tomb ; 
Nor do I seek the laurel for my brow, 
But only that above my grave may grow 
Some sunny grains of Thine immortal seed 
That may be garnered up for human need 
In Bread of Life on which poor souls can 

feed! 
Of late my life hath gathered more at root, 
Making new sap, I trust, for future fruit ; 
Lord, sun my harvest, set it ripening 
With sheaves in autumn thick as leaves in 

spring ! 
It is my prayer at night, my dream by day, 



194 Prayers from tfye Poets. 

To make some conquest for the poor. I pray 
Thee let me have my one supreme desire, 
To fill some earthly facts with heavenly fire ; 
Give voice to their dumb world before I die ; 
Their patient pain more piteous than a cry ! 
Let me work now, while all eternity 
With its large-seeming leisure waits for me. 



VESPER PRAYER. 

ELIZA SCUDDER. 

The day is done ; the weary day of thought 

and toil is past, 
Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the 

tired earth at last ; 
By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest 

friends oppressed, 
In Thee alone, the soul, outworn, refresh- 
ment finds and rest, 
Bend Gracious Spirit, from above, like these 

o'er arching skies, 
And to thy firmament of love lift up these 

longing eyes ; 



Prayers from tfye Poets, 195 

And, folded by thy sheltering hand, in ref- 
uge still and deep, 
Let blessed thoughts from thee descend, as 
drop the dews of sleep. 

And when refreshed the soul once more puts 
on new life and power ; 

Oh, let thine image, Lord, alone, gild the 
first waking hour ! 

Let the dear presence dawn and glow, fairer 
than morn's first ray, 

And thy pure radiance overflow, the splen- 
dor of the day. 

So in the hastening even, so in the coming 
morn, 

When deeper slumber shall be given, and 
fresher life be born, 

Shine out, true Light ! to guide my way 
amid that deepening gloom, 

And rise, O Morning Star, the first that day- 
spring to illume ! 



196 Prayers from tfje poets. 

I cannot dread the darkness where thou wilt 

watch o'er me, 
Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless thy 

smile I see ; 

Creator, Savior, Comforter ! on thee my soul 

is cast ; 
At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be 

thou my First and Last ! 



A PRAYER OF AFFECTION. 

MRS. HEMANS, 

Blessings, O Father, shower! 

Father of mercies ! round his precious head ! 

On his lone walks and in his thoughtful 

hour, 
And the pure visions of his midnight bed, 
Blessings be shed ! 

Father! I pray thee not 

For earthly treasures, to that most beloved, 
Fame, fortune, power; — oh, be his spirit 
proved 



prayers from tfye Poets. 197 



By these, or by their absence, at thy will ! 
But let thy peace be wedded to his lot, 
Guarding his inner life from touch of ill, 
With its dove pinion still ! 

Let such a sense of thee, 

Thy watching presence, thy sustaining love, 

His bosom guest inalienably be, 

That whereso'er he move, 

A heavenly light serene 

Upon his heart and mien 

May sit undimmed ! a gladness rest his own, 

Unspeakable, and to the world unknown ! 

Such as from childhood's morning land of 
dreams, 

Remembered faintly gleams, 

Faintly remembered, and too swiftly flown ! 

So let him walk with thee, 

Made by thy spirit free ; 

And when thou call'st him from his mortal 
place, 

To his last hour be still that sweetness 
given, 



198 prayers from tfye Poets* 

That joyfull trust ! and brightly let him 
part, 

With lamp clear burning, and unlingering 
heart 

Mature to meet in heaven 

His Savior's face ! 



A MARRIAGE PRAYER. 

GERALD MASSEY. 

Lord of Life, look smiling down 

Upon this pair; with choicest blessings 
crown 

Their love ; the beauty of the Flower bring 

Back to the bud again in some new spring ! 

Long may they walk the blessed life 
together 

With wedded hearts that still make golden 
weather, 

And keep the chill of winter far aloof 

With inward warmth when snow is on the 
roof ; 

Wed in that sweet forever of Love's kiss, 

Like two rich notes made one in bridal bliss. 



Prayers from tfye Poets. 199 

We would not pray that sorrow ne'er may 
shed 

Her dews along the pathway they must 
tread ; 

The sweetest flowers would never bloom at all 

If no least rain of tears did ever fall. 

In joy the soul is bearing human fruit ; 

In grief it may be taking divine root. 

Come joy or grief, nestle them near to Thee 

In happy love twin for eternity ! 



PRAYER FROM THE "ADIEU." 

LORD BYROX. 

Father of Light ! to Thee I call ; 

My soul is dark within ; 
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall, 

Avert the death of sin. 
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star, 
Who calm'st the elemental war, 

Whose mantle is yon boundless sky, 
My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive ; 
And, since I soon must cease to live, 

Instruct me how to die. 



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